Teaching Credentials
by ruth baulding
Summary: The intimidating Jedi Master Jorus C'Baoth publicly questions Obi Wan's capacity to train the Chosen One.
1. Chapter 1

**Teaching Credentials**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

"May I sit with you?"

Anakin Skywalker's dirty blonde head tilted up to look into his mentor's face with an earnest, pleading expression – a mute call for rescue from some perceived bit of awkwardness or an unpleasant scene. Obi Wan Kenobi's eyes traveled around the large dining hall expectantly, looking for the occasion of trouble, but he sensed nothing out of the ordinary.

"Yes…but I would think you might prefer the company of some of the other students your age. Look, there's –"

"No thanks," Anakin broke in hurriedly, darting in front of his teacher to help himself to a generous plate of food from the serving area.

"What have you done now?" Obi Wan murmured in his ear, under cover of leaning forward to reach a Twi'Lek dish on the other side of the wide counter.

"Nothing, master!" Anakin protested, a bit too loudly. He blushed and lowered his voice. "I just….feel kind of weird. You know?"

Obi Wan sighed. Oh yes, he knew. The entire Temple knew. The Force was awash with confusion and shock and dismay, as the terrible news which had reached the ears of the Council this morning made its swift way among the ranks of Jedi present here on Coruscant, and across the galaxy. It was a scandal and a tragedy like few he had witnessed in his lifetime, and he had to admit that it left him with a very bad feeling indeed.

"Yes, I understand," he said quietly to the boy.

Anakin beamed, grateful for the moment of sympathy, and continued piling food onto his plate. "Master? Make sure you get dessert."

The young Jedi Knight rolled his eyes and picked up a small dish of tiramisu, setting it in his own tray and threading his way to a table near the back of the spacious eating area, Anakin in tow. At every table they passed, heads leaned together and low, grave voices whispered and murmured. The news had disturbed the serenity of the Jedi Temple as surely as a large rock tossed into a still pond. They set down their trays and Anakin settled himself beside his teacher, shoulder to shoulder, as though craving physical comfort. The boy was super-attuned to disturbances in the Force; if the mood and atmosphere had Obi Wan rattled, then the young ten year old Padawan was surely twice as confused and unsettled.

"Thanks," Anakin said, transferring the extra dessert to his own place, setting it next to his own helping of tiramisu and starting in on his dinner without further ceremony. "You're the best master I could have."

Obi Wan raised an eyebrow and had just opened his mouth to make a sarcastic retort, when he spotted a tall imposing figure wending his way toward them among the other diners. The silver haired Jedi master approached with an air of determination, and sat opposite the two of them without hesitating to receive a greeting – or for that matter, an invitation.

Anakin stared.

"Master C'Baoth," Obi Wan said, inclining his head respectfully.

"Master Kenobi," the older Jedi replied, his eyes resting curiously on Anakin.

"My Padawan, Anakin Skywalker."

"An honor to meet you," Master C'Baoth said to Anakin. The Padawan swallowed and nodded, uncharacteristically tongue-tied.

Obi Wan stirred, an infinitesimal sign of impatience. "Was there something –"

"Yes," Jedi Master Jorus C'Baoth replied, sharply. "There is something you can do for me, Master Kenobi. I should like a word with your Padawan. Alone, if you please."

Obi Wan shot Anakin a warning glance, but the boy looked and felt in the Force just as stymied and taken aback as his teacher, so he returned his gaze to Jorus C'Baoth. The man was a much older and highly respected member of the Order, a Master with a prominent public persona and an impressive reputation. "Of course, master," he answered politely. "Perhaps after-"

"Now would be best," the other cut him off. "I appreciate your willingness to indulge my request."

Obi Wan blinked, his face stilling into a perfect expressionless mask of calm. Beside him, Anakin tensed, no doubt sensing his mentor's annoyance.

"Ten minutes should suffice," C'Baoth told him imperiously.

Obi Wan rose gracefully and made a very careful, formal bow to the silver bearded Jedi, turning with a last admonitory glance at Anakin, and strode toward the opposite doors at a measured pace. He left a sharp ripple in the Force as he went; not a few heads turned to regard him curiously as he passed.

Anakin watched him go and then turned nervously to his new acquaintance. "Um….hello," he said.

* * *

><p>Obi Wan paced along the fifth level concourse, oblivious to anything but his own seething temper. This would never do.<p>

He paused and looked over the railing into the soaring hall below, gripping the curved balustrade with both hands and taking a few moments to calm his breathing. Jorus C'Baoth was a powerful Jedi, over forty years his senior, and – although he had never served on the Council – highly superior in rank and experience. If he wished to dismiss Obi Wan like a wayward Padawan, well then…

He let out his breath slowly, using the Yamalsa technique, counting down twenty heartbeats, each slower and stronger than the last. _Don't be asinine, _he chided himself. _He asked permission to speak to your Padawan. What right have you to feel slighted? This is nothing but evidence of pride and arrogance on your own part._

"You do that so well," a warm voice said at his elbow.

He smiled, and opened his eyes. "Garen!"

The young Knight leaned backward against the railing, elbows propped on its edge. "Tell me you don't lecture your Padawan like that," Garen Muln smiled back.

"I hardly have an opportunity," Obi Wan answered wryly, still trying to smother the embers of frustration and hurt pride.

Garen snorted. "That's good. I was going to volunteer to rescue him from your clutches for a while – maybe take him up in one of the new fighters. They're sweet, Obi. Even you would like them."

His encomium fell flat. "The last thing Anakin needs is more incentive to worship at the altar of technology," Obi Wan said. "Keep your Dark Side idolatry to yourself, Garen."

The two friends fell silent, idly watching the students and masters passing in the hall below. Garen shifted. "Did you hear?" he asked, far more soberly.

"About Dooku, you mean?"

Garen nodded. There were no words. The Force warped and reverbrated around them, a distant note of sorrow echoing in the back of their minds. The Lost. The Lost Twenty, it would be said from now on. Already the archivists would be recording the great Jedi's choice, his decision to leave the Order after so many decades of devoted service, his denunciation of the Republic and the Jedi themselves. Already the Council would be dealing with the fallout, the public and internal strife sure to follow on such a scandalous and unexpected move.

Garen shuddered. "If he can leave – if someone as strong in the Force as Master Dooku can see fit to abandon his vows…" he muttered, leaving the rest unsaid. If he could fall, then what hope had any of the rest of them? Were there dark times to come, of such power and majesty, that there was naught to be done but despair?

Obi Wan turned away from the edge and set his jaw. "Then it is left to others to uphold the Order and protect the Republic."

Garen met his eyes, his hand briefly clasping his friend's shoulder before falling again to rest on the hilt of his lightsaber. He forced a smile, though his tension still hummed through the Force. "Are you stronger than Dooku himself now, Master Kenobi?" he challenged, in an effort at playfulness.

"The Force is," Obi Wan replied simply.

* * *

><p>"Well, goodnight," Anakin said, hesitating in the arched entry to the older initiates' dormitories.<p>

"Sleep well," Obi Wan answered, wondering whether he would be able to do just that himself. Probably not.

"You never asked what Master C'Baoth wanted," the boy added quietly.

Obi Wan nodded. "It was your private conversation."

"Oh." But Anakin did not move away down the corridor. "Um….don't you _want_ to know, master?"

Obi Wan folded his arms. "That's not the point, Anakin. It would be inappropriate for me to pry into your conversation with another master, and I do not wish to pressure you to –"

"Okay," Anakin interrupted. "But can I tell you if I want to?"

_Oh. _"Of course."

"Privately?"

_Oh dear. _"Of course."

"'Cause it was sort of about you, too."

_Oh hells. _"I see."

They stepped together into Anakin's tiny quarters. The Padawan hastily pushed some of the spare circuitry and scavenged droid parts off the narrow cot and waited for Obi Wan to gingerly pick his way across the cluttered floor to sit down on the edge of the thin mattress. The small study desk, the single chiar and the meditation pad were all similarly covered in half-finished cybernetic projects. The floor of the closet was also full of storage crates containing bits of metal and tools, atop which a spare tunic and cloak had been carelessly crumpled.

"Where do you _sleep_?" Obi Wan asked, looking in all directions at the evidence of his apprentice's obsessive hobby.

"On the floor sometimes," the boy admitted. He frowned. "Is that all right?"

"It can't do you any harm, I suppose."

Anakin nodded solemnly. "Obi Wan…" he began, and then stopped.

That wasn't a good sign. The use of his proper name rather than the honorific never meant anything good. Anakin seemed to forget his protocols and lapse into familial intimacy whenever he was profoundly disturbed. A legacy of his unusual upbringing – with a mother. Obi Wan waited for him to continue.

"What do you think of Master C'Baoth?" The boy changed tactics. "He looks like a crazy old wizard. There's a legend they tell on Tatooine about this old magician who used to live out in the Black Hills. His name was Ben-Attur-Yavi. That's what the Tuskens called him. We just called him Black Ben. He was a pirate and a warrior and he used evil magic to lure people –"

"What exactly does this charming character have to do with Master C'Baoth?" Obi Wan interrupted.

"Nothing. Only…is Master C'Baoth _sorted_?"

"Anakin!"

"Sorry, master. But he is pretty odd, different from other Jedi. He sort of reminds me of Qui Gon, only in a twisted way. I'm glad I knew the real Qui Gon."

Obi Wan narrowed his eyes and tried to make sense of this rambling statement. "So am I," he said gently, and then, "It isn't my place to discuss Master C'Baoth in quite that way, Anakin."

The boy squirmed. "Okay…how do I say this? " he wrinkled his nose up and looked at the floor before meeting his teacher's eyes again. "He wanted to know how well I like being your student."

"What?"

Anakin watched him carefully. "He also asked me a lot of questions about my studies and the Force and things I can do, and saber practice and meditation…and, I don't know. Lots of stuff."

Obi Wan tamped down his resentment. "I see. Did that bother you?"

Anakin looked at him. Through him. "It bothers _you,"_ he observed bluntly.

"It's my role to be protective of you, as my Padawan," he answered cautiously. "I'm sure Master C'Baoth has your best interests at heart, as well."

"Yeah," Anakin replied unenthusiastically.

"He is a very powerful Jedi. You should be honored that he took such an interest in you," Obi Wan added, with an equal lack of conviction.

Anakin twisted his mouth to the side and frowned.

"I think you should get some rest," Obi Wan said.

"Okay. I mean, yes, master."

"Good night."

"Good night."

But as he made his way back down the corridor away from the student dormitories, Obi Wan couldn't help but think that a _good night_ was the last thing he was going to enjoy.


	2. Chapter 2

**Teaching Credentials**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 2<strong>

It wasn't a good night at all. Dreams of Qui Gon's death, and final agonized request, haunted him for the better part of the night. Disgusted, Obi Wan rose well before dawn and roamed the corridors of the Temple aimlessly, unable to find peace because even here, in the hallowed Temple, the Force was taut with an unwonted anxiety, shock and dismay oozing from his fellow Jedi in a steady lamentation. The Temple was in mourning for one of its own.

He fled to the outdoor gardens, only to discover that Coruscant was enjoying one of its scheduled rainfalls- a swift springtime storm carefully choreographed by the meteorological regulators high in orbit. At first he used the Force to shield himself from the downpour, but in the end he gave it up and settled for the most strenuous of the alchaka meditations, driving himself through the repetitions and demanding forms without cease, until he was both exhausted and soaking wet. The rain gently slowed and stopped, and so did he.

Then he sat between two colonnades of stately sparjji trees, and waited for the sun to rise, slipping into a light and restful trance, floating empty on the surface of the Force, feeling both its present turbulence and also the deep calm currents that moved below.

"Catch your death of cold, you will," a gravelly voice asserted.

"Master!" he exclaimed, starting into full awareness and rising to make a formal bow. Pink and gold highlights picked out the silhouettes of trees around them, caught the gleaming orbs of a million suspended drops of water. Overhead, the sky lightened to a pale grey, already criss-crossed by endless streams of air traffic.

Yoda leaned heavily on his gimer stick and surveyed the gardens thoughtfully. "Lost a dear student, I have," he rasped. "Even the sky weeps."

Obi Wan remained silent, noting the droop of the ancient Jedi's pointed ears, the heaviness that hung around him in the Force, a mantle of regret.

"Hmmmmph," the old one remarked, dismissing his own mood with a wave of one clawed hand. "Foolish to regret it is, eh?" He planted the stick firmly in front of himself and looked up at Obi Wan.

"Master?"

Yoda's luminous eyes warmed slightly. "Cold are you?" he asked.

"Yes, master."

The tiny green Jedi sighed deeply, looking old and tired. "Cold also am I."

Obi Wan crouched down next to him, on one knee. Remembering Garen Muln's apprehension. Feeling the heaviness settle on his own shoulders, squeeze away his own breath and chill his very bones. If one as great as Dooku could fall, then…? For a moment the clouds overhead were no longer shadows in the sky but the shroud of the Dark Side, waiting to fall, held up only by some fragile, invisible power.

"Master, what will we do?" he said, fighting sudden vertigo.

Yoda looked him full in the face, and blinked twice, slowly, eyes crinkling with irrepressible, ancient humor. "Go inside, where dry it is," he chuckled.

* * *

><p>The Council was in full session – and had been all morning and most the afternoon. Bad news had been followed by worse news. In the wake of Dooku's willing renunciation of the Jedi path had come a spate of personal crises: young students and a few older Padawans, who had listened to his arguments, or been disheartened by his accusations of corruption and uselessness, flocked to the Council with seething doubts, with half-formed intentions of leaving themselves. A rift, small but painful, had formed in the close knit community within the Temple, between those ready to condemn Dooku and those tempted to sympathize with him. An open wound which, if not healed quickly, might bleed Jedi, inflamed by bitter and heated words.<p>

Obi Wan waited, less than patiently, in the Council antechamber, wondering why in the name of all the stars he had been peremptorily summoned thence only to be kept waiting two hours for audience. Most disturbing of all was the stipulation that he leave his Padawan behind.

At last the doors hissed open and he entered cautiously into the circular chamber atop the south tower. The room felt like a hot kiln in the Force; so much contained emotion and energy seethed in the air that he felt himself physically stop and hesitate a few paces in. It had not been a pleasant day for the council members.

"Come along, Master Kenobi," a commanding voice said from the center of the mosaic inlaid floor.

Jorus C'Baoth stood before the gathered masters, his long silver hair and beard glinting in the rays of sunlight entering through the curved panoramic windows. He appeared to be irritated by the intrusion or interruption, and even more irritated by the slight pause in the younger Jedi's movements.

Obi Wan bristled inwardly, not moving.

"Proceed," Mace Windu called out in his deep rolling voice, a note of exhaustioin and impatience slightly coloring its rich baritone. Obi Wan strode to the middle of the space and stood a pace distant from Master C'Baoth, making a bow to the circle of Councilors.

"Now that the person concerned is _present,_ Master C'Baoth, you may continue," Mace growled.

Jorus C'Baoth flicked a sideways glance at Obi Wan. "As I was saying, masters." He boomed out, "In times such as these we must to everything possible to secure the future of the Order, and to eliminate or neutralize damaging _lineages."_

Obi Wan felt a hot thrill down his spine and immediately froze his expression into one of polite but detached interest.

"I speak of teaching lineages, of course. Master Dooku had several Padawans in his lifetime of service to the Order, and I fear that recent events have proved that his influence may have been unwholesome. There is a maverick strain in his students, I think we must all admit. Or at least, _suspect._"

Obi Wan kept his entire body rigid and still.

"Foremost among those in whom we have witnessed this tendency was Master Jinn, if you will recall."

Something snapped in the Force – a bright blinding point of fire, almost painful. Too late, Obi Wan realized that it was his composure. "Forgive me," he retorted, his voice as cold as ice, "I believe you are gravely mistaken."

C'Baoth turned to him thunderously. Obi Wan held his gaze, meeting power with power, unflinching, feeling the spiraling tension approach breaking point, and half welcoming that moment when it came.

Yoda sat unmoving. Mace Windu leaned forward and let out a long breath, his brows lowered in patent disapproval. "You wish to speak to this matter, Master Kenobi?" he asked, his voice low and growling.

"No, master. I do not posses sufficient skill to argue with Master C'Baoth. I was taught by Master Qui Gon that a Jedi should speak only the truth."

The Force lanced with sharp light and heat as the Council reacted to this exchange, sending another thrill down his spine and closing his throat. Obi Wan observed, with a strange detachment, that he had just uttered unbecoming and disrespectful words to a senior Jedi in the presence of the entire Council. And that he really didn't care.

C'Baoth turned away, a faint smile of derision on his craggy face. "As you can see," he said, "This tendency has been passed on to the next generation."

Yoda held up a warning hand. "Enough. One of you, an apology owes to all those present." His luminous eyes were almost slits.

Obi Wan dropped his gaze to the floor and bowed deeply. "Forgive me, masters," he murmured. "My conduct is inappropriate. I stand corrected." He felt his cheeks burn, and thanked the Force that Anakin was not here to witness his outburst or the reprimand that was sure to follow.

But Yoda said nothing.

"I will accept that apology when it is coupled with better self control," C'Baoth replied haughtily, turning back to the Council circle and drawing himself up to his full height. "My point, masters, being this: we have among us now, at a young and impressionable age, a student who may well be the Chosen One spoken of in prophecy. I refer to young Skywalker. In light of recent events, it seems only reasonable and prudent to make sure he is assigned to the _best_ of teachers. Yet I find that he is apprenticed to a Jedi who is young, inexperienced as a master, and in the teaching lineage of a man who has just left the Order forever. And, I might add, who has himself actually come close to doing the same thing in the past, if the archive records are to be trusted." He glared at Obi Wan, daring him to contradict his words. "I know you speak only the truth, Master Kenobi," he added, softly, dangerously. "Do you now deny the truth of what I say?"

It took a lifetime of discipline to keep his voice level. "No master."

C'Baoth drew in a breath and raised his eyebrows. "I only suggest that – for the good of the Order – this young man, Anakin Skywalker, be transferred as Padawan to someone far more capable and experienced. The task of training him is undoubtedly one of the most important tasks facing the Order in the coming years. It should be given to one who is ready for the responsibility."

The Force rippled and stirred, shimmering with the Council's silent reactions. All eyes turned to Yoda.

"Yourself you suggest," he grunted.

"With the Council's permission," C'Baoth replied, with a half bow.

Yoda turned to Obi Wan. "And consent to this, would you?"

The room fell silent. Beside him, Jorus C'Baoth exuded a sense of sure victory. Around him, the Council held its breath. Before him, the most respected of his teachers, of all the living Jedi, waited for him to simply acquiesce.

"Master, you know I will not consent to this. I gave Qui Gon my promise_."_

Yoda frowned. "And if the Council directly orders this? What then? Defy the Council will you, Obi Wan? Hmmmm? Follow Dooku's path, will you?"

"I gave Qui Gon my _word."_

But Yoda did not relent. "My word I give to you, hm. Trust the Jedi path you may, or trust your own attachments. But both you cannot trust. Which will you follow, Obi Wan?

He was trembling like a Padawan put to some extreme task. "I will follow the way the Living Force shows me," he said. "That is the Jedi path. And I will keep my word. That is the Jedi path. And I will do what is right for Anakin, no matter what it may cost," he continued, voice strong with conviction. "That is my path. And I will not stray from that path, even should – against all possibility – the Council go mad and forbid it."

There was a scattering of indrawn breath, and Jorus C'Baoth stared, appalled.

Yoda slammed the tip of his cane against the polished marble floor.

"Go," he commanded. "Both of you. Meditate on this I will."


	3. Chapter 3

**Teaching Credentials**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 3<strong>

The dojo was no refuge.

"Not like that, Anakin. You're leaving too much space for an opponent to come under your guard. The blade comes _here-_ right next to your body. Sweep straight, not out, like _this."_

"But…won't I cut off my own head if I do that?"

Obi Wan snorted. "First rule of lightsaber training: _do not hit yourself_."

"I thought it was _do not fall down," _the young Padawan grinned.

"That would be good, too, yes."

They both turned as the far doors opened to admit a newcomer – Jorus C'Baoth. He had discarded his robe in the anteroom and held a training saber loosely in his right hand.

Obi Wan bowed, stiffly. "I am sorry, master. This salle is not available at present."

C'Baoth smiled grimly. "I know that," he replied. "I would be honored if you would allow me to practice with you, Master Kenobi. Yoda holds you in such high esteem…as a swordsman." There was the slightest emphasis on the last phrase.

"Alas, I am occupied with my Padawan at present. Perhaps on another occasion? As you say, it would be an honor." Obi Wan was not about to rise to the bait. How often as a youngling had he been reprimanded for taking out personal tensions within the confines of the dojo? Such behavior was highly reprehensible.

But C'Baoth was nothing if not overbearing. He turned to Anakin, indulgently. "I am sure this young man would benefit immensely from a display of advanced techniques. How would you enjoy a demonstration, Padawan?"

The boy looked form his teacher to the silver haired master and back again, clearly torn between loyalty and curiosity.

"Good," C'Baoth declared. "Stand over there – against that wall – and don't get in the way." He ignited his own weapon and made a formal salute to Obi Wan, who remained motionless, not returning the gesture, his own saber powered down. Anakin skittered away to the corner of the room, eyes wide and wary.

"Master C'Ba'oth," Obi Wan began firmly.

But the older Jedi had sprung into motion, into an attack, one it would be difficult to dodge. Without thinking, before he could think about thinking, Obi Wan's saber was ignited and sweeping into a parry. The two blades sizzled as they slammed together, and the loud buzz echoed off the walls and smooth floor.

And that was all the more reason he needed. In an instant they were fully engaged, fighting hard in Form IV, a difficult and beautiful discipline which focused on the use of concentrated power, subtle enhancement of skill with the Force. This was no practice session, obviously. C'Baoth was determined to display the full extent of his strength and skill – and not just to Anakin. Obi Wan felt himself slip into the tension of the moment, into full combat mode. He answered C'Baoth's display with his own, relying on speed and accuracy to compensate for his towering opponent's sheer size and height.

A few hard minutes later, C'Baoth finally scored the hit he wanted – a grazing strike across his opponent's left shoulder. Not more than a scratch in real combat, but by the rules of scrimmage, enough to count as a hit. They stepped apart, heartbeats and breath quickened.

"Thank you," Obi Wan said, adding the requisite bow. He switched off the training saber.

"Now, now," C'Baoth protested, casting a quick glance at Anakin, watching awestruck in the far corner. "That hardly counts as a hit. A lucky accident, I would say." His eyes were dark and glittering. The contest had been too even for his taste; though he had managed to land the first blow, it had been nothing serious, and their skills had appeared for the most part evenly matched. He wished for a more emphatic testament to his superiority.

Obi Wan stood immobile. "Not at all," he said, voice low and controlled. "I am sure you have other matters to attend to, master."

C'Baoth raised both eyebrows. "You wish to set an example of timidity to your student?" he asked, disapproval and contempt ringing in his deep voice.

Anakin's face went still.

"Best two of three," the Jedi master continued, raising his blade into ready position once more.

Obi Wan looked at Anakin. Seeds of doubt flickered behind the boy's eyes. _Blast it._ What would Qui Gon have done in this situation? Walk away? Use diplomacy? Argue? Or let the arrogant, aggressive Jedi standing before him stumble on his own overconfidence?

He saluted, and they began the next bout, harder, faster, more intent than before. C'Baoth fell upon the younger Jedi like a lightning storm, raining down blows from every direction and forcing a steady retreat backward to the wall. Obi Wan let him come, blocking, parrying, and evading, inviting further and further extension, more furious energy. C'Baoth lunged, leapt, struck and Force-pushed, to no avail. His desire to teach a lesson to the young Knight who had publicly defied his wishes sharpened to a painful intensity.

Obi Wan struck, backflipping away form a high blow and landing in a crouch, cutting at C'Baoth's legs and burning a line across both the older Jedi's shins. The strike would have taken off both legs had the sabers been real weapons and not low-powered training versions.

C'baoth stumbled back in surprise. His brow furrowed into many deep grooves. Anakin whistled under his breath somewhere behind them. A warm flash of admiration swept through the Force. The corner of Obi Wan's mouth tweaked upward.

"Best two of three," C'Baoth repeated, striking down almost immediately, without warning or salute. Obi Wan had to roll to evade the hit, and then defend himself from a blinding series of attacks aimed at his head and shoulders. He found his feet eventually, and retreated again, still working to regain perfect balance, stepping backward slowly…

..until he hit the wall. C'Baoth leapt in ferociously, seizing the younger Jedi's sword arm wrist in a crushing grip and pinning it against the wall. Obi Wan in turn gripped C'Baoth's right arm with his free hand. They grappled, both calling on the Force. C'Baoth slowly pushed his blade closer and closer, forcing the burning line of light toward his opponent's neck. There was no escaping the powerful Jedi's crushing grip. Obi Wan summoned his saber out of his right hand into his left, releasing his own hold on C'Baoth's sword arm and ducking aside in the same spilt second. C'Baoth's saber slammed into the wall behind them, leaving a scorch mark on the smooth white surface. Obi Wan twisted, reversed his grip and caught his foe's arm on the inside with his blade.

C'Baoth let out his breath in a hiss. "Well done," he admitted. Then, without warning, he flicked his still-live blade to the side, planting the burning line across Obi Wan's open right palm, still pinned against the wall by the silver haired Jedi's unrelenting grip.

Anakin gasped aloud.

The two Jedi fell apart. C'Baoth shut down his training saber and bowed. Obi Wan stepped shakily away from the wall and switched off his own weapon, mouth set in a hard line. His bow was much abbreviated. Master Jorus C'Baoth swept his imperious gaze over master and Padawan, bushy eyebrows drawn together in a single imposing line. He turned, long hair brushing over his wide shoulders, and strode out of the room at a furious pace.

Anakin ran over to his teacher. "Master! Are you all right? Your hand!"

"It's nothing a little bacta won't mend," Obi Wan said tightly. His eyes rested on the doorway through which Master C'Baoth had just retreated.

"What was that all about?" Anakin asked in a hushed tone.

But he got no answer.

* * *

><p>"Master? You summoned me?"<p>

Yoda turned halfway round on his meditation pad and motioned the visitor to sit opposite him. Obi Wan crossed the small chamber's floor, patterned with light and shadow cast by the partially blinded windows, and folded himself onto the flat circular cushion. Outside, the endless streams of traffic wove a tapestry of light across the indigo blue of the night sky.

"Meditated on this request of Master C'Baoth's, I have," the ancient Jedi stated without preamble. "Most unusual it is."

"Yes, master."

"Most unusual young Skywalker is also," Yoda added, hands folded thoughtfully.

"Indeed." Obi Wan watched the small, wrinkled and white haired Jedi master carefully. Yoda's eyes gave nothing away; his expression was as inscrutable as ever. "Does my statement to the Council displease you, master?" he said, surprising himself with his own daring.

Yoda broke into a long wheezing chuckle. "Easy to displease is old Yoda," he chortled. "Worry not about that, should you."

Obi Wan looked down at his own hands, folded in his lap. He did worry about it, nonetheless. Yoda had taught him as a toddler and youngling, had taken a special interest in him all his life, had been a source of counsel and comfort since Qui Gon's death. How could he not care about the ancient and wise Jedi's opinion?

"Hhhhmmmph," Yoda snorted. "Your lightsaber show me."

_What?_ Silently he unclipped the weapon from his belt and held it out. Yoda used the Force to lift it from his outstretched hand and levitate it into his own gnarled fingers. As he did so, his keen eyes flashed over the younger Jedi's open palm.

"What is this, eh?" he demanded, catching sight of the not-quite-healed burn, the line of scarlet and white left by C'Baoth's training saber earlier that day.

"A saber mishap, master. Nothing of importance."

Yoda eyed him curiously. "An old custom it was, centuries ago, to strike with a saber the hand of one who flagrant disrespect showed to his superiors. A warning, that he who does not learn with humility, burned shall be by his own actions. Such punishments- no longer deemed appropriate are they."

Obi Wan felt his face color. So C'Baoth had been making a point, had he? More of a point than he had initially guessed. "I did not know that," he answered flatly, closing his hand and looking instead at the saber he had given to Yoda for inspection.

The old Jedi grunted. "Qui Gon Jinn's saber, this was," he noted.

"Yes, master. I have carried it since Theed."

"Defeated Darth Maul with this weapon, you did."

"Yes, master."

Yoda turned the beautiful artifact over and over, running a clawed finger along its polished hilt, its smooth pommel. "Carried this with honor, you have. Now is the time to let it go. Build your own again, you must."

Obi Wan took a breath, caught off guard.

"Yes," Yoda agreed with himself, on the other Jedi's behalf. "Yes. To Ilum you will go. Find a new crystal there. Build a new saber you must, of your own design."

"I – but master, I cannot take my Padawan to Ilum. He is not yet ready to –"

"Know this I do. Take another Jedi to Ilum with you, yes. Choose someone to accompany you. Your Padawan safe here in the Temple will be."

A thread of suspicion ran through his mind, as swift and fleeting as a water snake breaking the surface of a pond. "Who will oversee his training? I might be gone a few days."

Yoda's eyes narrowed. "Master C'Baoth an opportunity to train with your Padawan desires. Have it, he shall, in your absence."

Obi Wan's back went rigid. "Master!" he objected. Yoda was sending him to Ilum to get him out of the way while Jorus C'Baoth made a move to take over Anakin's education himself? Had Yoda decided that the old, imperious Jedi master had been right: that Obi Wan was too young, too inexperienced, too weak in the Force, too unreliable to accomplish the task?

Yoda watched him, with no apparent sympathy. "Do this you must, Obi Wan," he said severely. "Now."

"Yes, master." He bowed his head, knowing that it was useless to hide his sense of defeat and shame from the ancient master, but wishing to preserve a semblance of calm. "I will go first thing in the morning. But, may I ask….is this a trial period? Is Master C'Baoth to have a chance to make the arrangement permanent?"

"Hm. A trial period, yes. Very perceptive that is," Yoda mused.

"I am truly sorry, master. I –"

"No!" Yoda huffed, grumpily. "Enough apology. Already made one without due cause, you have. Compound not that error with another."

"Yes, master."

He left feeling stunned and confused – a common enough state of mind after an interview with the ancient master, but still an unpleasant one. Was he under censure or not? Was his apology to the Council earlier unnecessary? What did that imply? But then, why was C'Baoth being given this chance to have what he wanted, a trial run with Anakin? What had motivated Yoda's sudden decision to sever his last material attachment to Qui Gon? And whose trial was this to be, anyhow?

Suddenly miserably aware that his hand was still throbbing painfully and that he was bone weary, in body and mind, he made his way in a daze to his own quarters – and slept dreamlessly until morning.


	4. Chapter 4

**Teaching Credentials**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 4<strong>

Anakin Skywalker trudged his way down the broad flight of stairs issuing into the Temple's vast entry hall- the one opening off the main gates at ground level, the plaza flanked by solemn statues and the rows of austere columns on which the impossibly massive pyramid of the Temple seemed to float, as though suspended. He seldom used the main entrance, and he seldom entered this hall. But this grand room was the place where he had been instructed to meet Jedi Master Jorus C'Baoth, who would be taking over his training for a few days while Obi Wan was gone.

He had said goodbye to Obi Wan that morning, tagging along as the Jedi Knight made his way to the upper hangar bay.

"….But I still don't understand why I can't come with you," he had complained.

"Ilum is a sacred, and a dangerous, place. I will take you there when you are ready. Now is not the time."

"And I really have to study with Master C'Baoth? I can't just be on my own for a few days?"

Obi Wan's cheek had tightened, and there was a flash of temper in the Force – not directed at Anakin, though. Just a little streaking shot of fire, rippling across his teacher's presence. "Yes, you do. The Council has decided the matter. There is nothing I , or you, can do about it."

"Well, don't worry then. I'll make you proud. I'll be on my very best behavior for him."

"That's what I'm worried about, " Obi Wan had quipped, just as suddenly reverting to a serious mood. "And speaking of which, I have confidence that you won't try sneaking out of the Temple again while I'm gone?"

"Master, I told you…"

"Anakin, I do not think Master C'Baoth would take kindly to such a breach of the rules. And for stars' sake, no scavenging in scrap piles. Not even here."

Anakin's face fell, but Obi Wan pushed on, undeterred. "And if you think I don't know about that new magstrip racing scene over on the industrial side of the Lichii district, you are sadly mistaken, my young Padawan."

Anakin perked up immediately. "I didn't know about that!" he enthused.

"Forget that you do," Obi Wan admonished severely, eyes boring into the boy until he wilted, ever so slightly. He picked up the single small satchel which he carried for his journey and pulled the hood of his cloak over his head.

"Bye, master. I'll miss you, " Anakin said sweetly.

"Oh, I'm sure. May the Force be with you."

And then Obi Wan had gone off, on his mysterious quest to the caves of Ilum, leaving his apprentice stranded here on Coruscant with a somewhat intimidating tutor as stand-in. One who wanted to meet in the grand entrance hall, about a ten minute walk from anywhere really interesting or useful inside the Tempe complex.

Anakin sighed and withdrew a piece of circuitry he carried about in his pocket. He was just fiddling with the blown transceiver relay attached to one of the wires, trying to tweak it back into working order – just for something to pass the time- when a shadow fell across him. He looked up into the blazing silhouette of Jorus C'Baoth, framed in the morning light from one of the tall windows set near the ceiling.

"Ah, here you are," the tall man growled out in his deep voice. His resemblance to Ben-Attur-Yavi, the legendary mad wizard of the Tatooine Dune Sea, was even more striking than before.

"Uh…good morning," Anakin replied, hastily shoving the bit of electronics back into its pocket.

"What have you there, Padawan?" Master C'Baoth inquired.

The boy hesitantly withdrew the bit of wiring and held it out. "Just something I keep to work on when I'm bored or have nothing else to do," he explained, feeling suddenly lame and foolish. Obi Wan was often exasperated with his hobby, but this older Jedi's expression was closer to disgust.

"A properly trained Padawan ought not to have any time on his hands to fill with trifling entertainments," he said. "Clearly your present master has not provided you with a sufficiently demanding course of study."

"Oh." That hadn't been what he meant, quite. "Actually, Master Obi Wan keeps me pretty busy. It's just…something I do."

Jorus C'Baoth raised one white eyebrow. "No matter, young Skywalker. I did not mean to impugn Master Kenobi. He has great potential."

"Yes?" That sounded more promising.

"Indeed. And he has always been a late bloomer. It is to be hoped that someday he comes into his own as a Jedi."

Anakin wrinkled his nose.

"Unlike you," C'Baoth continued, introspectively. "You are quite the precocious one, aren't you? Now come."

And he strode off, toward the exit and the world outside, Anakin hurrying to keep up with his long stride.

* * *

><p>Garen Muln rolled over on the sleeping bunk in the passenger compartment of the light shuttle and opened one grey eye. "Stop pacing. How's a man supposed to sleep? I ask you."<p>

His traveling companion stopped in mid-stride and raised both eyebrows. "Perhaps, Master Muln, you should try the _other_ sleeping compartment; it is located directly across the corridor."

"What, and leave you here to fret yourself into a frenzy? Why do you think Yoda told you to take someone else with you? It wasn't so I could enjoy the scenery."

Obi Wan crossed his arms and sat on the opposite bunk. The room was so narrow that their knees almost touched across the open space between the two fold-down cots. "I thought it was so that you could benefit from my prudence and insight."

"That'll be the day. Sorry, old friend, you already have a Padawan. I'm not in line to be the next."

But it was the wrong thing to say. Garen watched his friend's face carefully as the thin façade of humor faded to reveal uncertainty and tension.

"I wish I knew why he sent me in the first place," Obi Wan admitted after a few moments.

Garen leaned back slightly on his own bunk and surveyed him, reaching out into the Force. They had grown up together in the Temple, studied together, wrestled and played together, got into trouble together on more than one occasion. The resulting shared discipline had undoubtedly sealed their lifelong friendship.

"You're frightened," he said. "I'm flattered. Nobody has ever been that intimidated in my presence before."

The jest fell flat. "Is it Ilum?" he tried again. "Are you afraid of Ilum?"

"Who wouldn't be?" Obi Wan shrugged. "It's a fool who wanders into those caves without a certain degree of trepidation."

"True enough," Garen agreed, not yet satisfied that this was the full answer. "But you've been there before." They both had, at different times. It was the place of choice to find a lightsaber crystal, a traditional coming of age ceremony.

Obi Wan looked up. "Yes. But I was thirteen. At that point in time, I didn't yet know what failure truly means."

"And now?"

"Now I do, Garen. I don't want to face those caves again, though I will. And I want even less to face the Council again when we return to Coruscant."

Ah, here it was. The real problem. Garen leaned forward and gripped his friend's arm. "What in the galaxy do you have to fear from the Council? We all know you're going to _end up_ on the Council…lecturing and holding forth to anyone who will listen, issuing mandates and making up all sorts of new, thorny rules and strictures to obey."

Obi Wan chuckled in spite of himself. "I'm not _that_ bossy," he objected.

'I don't know," Garen mused. "I'll have to ask your Padawan."

Obi Wan closed his eyes. "Anakin may not be my Padawan much longer. Jorus C'Baoth is making a strong case for taking over the boy's training himself – having him formally removed from my tutelage."

"He can't do that!" Garen exclaimed. "The Council won't approve. It's extremely irregular."

"I think the Council is very tempted to approve it," his friend sighed. "And you can well imagine why. All this talk of the prophecy, and the Chosen One…and given my inexperience and past mistakes.." He made a soft gesture with his hand and let it drop again.

Garen took him by both shoulders. "You're perfect," he said. "Much better for Anakin than crazy old C'Baoth the Conqueror."

"Garen!"

"The sooner he gates his big project underway and gets his arrogant arse the hells out of this galaxy, the better for everyone. There. What do you say to that?"

Their eyes met; infectious mischief eddied in the Force between them, echoes of childhood joy – the unembarrassed fierce humor of new life, without a care for propriety or consequences.

"I'm appalled," Obi Wan grinned.

They laughed, and traded highly inappropriate and increasingly inventive epithets for the curmudgeonly old Jedi master, until the conversation turned of its own accord in other directions.

* * *

><p>"Come along now, young Skywalker."<p>

"Yes, Master C'Baoth." Anakin trotted to keep up with the billowing brown robe of Jorus C'Baoth, as he strode down the exact center of the legislative building's hallway. On either side of him, aides and secretaries, and even Senators themselves, bustled to get out of his way. It was like riding in the wake of a speeder boat across the high sea- or so Anakin imagined. Master C'Baoth carved his way through the crowded corridor as though it were empty of all but himself.. He did not have to ask for pardon or excuse himself: people seemed to make way for him out of a deep respect…or a healthy sense of self preservation.

Anakin thought it was fascinating.

At the door to a private conference chamber on the third level, C'Baoth paused. "We are here to discuss a project which I have dedicated many years to seeing underway," he told the young Jedi. "Listen and learn."

Inside were a collection of politicians and important officials. Anakin could tell that much from the clothing they wore, the number of secretaries and assistants in attendance behind them, and the air of entitlement and authority they exuded through the Force. When C'Baoth entered the room, their collective emotions tautened, creating a ripple effect: respect, intimidation, fear, curiosity, worry, eagerness, nervousness. It was so distracting that Anakin didn't catch a single one of the names exchanged during the introductions.

"The proposed designs you provided are completely unacceptable," C'Baoth told the gathered company. "You seem to lack the requisite imagination: _Outbound Flight_ is intended to seed colony worlds beyond the boundaries of the Republic, possibly in another galaxy. There can be no such thing as a conservative first attempt in the case of an ambition of this magnitude."

There were various protests and mumblings from the political people. Anakin's mind was elsewhere. _Outbound Flight_? He had never heard of it. The very mention of it sent a cold chill down his spine, but he couldn't say whether it was a premonition of danger or just the sheer thrill of adventure. His whole life he had dreamed of flying among the stars, of being the first person to see every planet in the galaxy….and he had always thought that he was the only one with such vast dreams. But here was another Jedi, one who dreamed beyond what even Anakin longed for, who wanted to leave the galaxy itself far behind and head out into the Unknown…

"Master C'Baoth," one of the officials was saying in a pained voice. "You do not seem to understand the political implications. Budget, policy, media opinion, Senate approval –"

"I understand the political implications very well," C'Baoth thundered. "Are you suggesting that the plans ought to be subordinated to petty practical and political concerns?"

The official reddened slightly. "No – but there is a balance to be struck between the mandates of the Jedi Order and the abilities and needs of ordinary people!"

"Indeed," C'Baoth growled. "The latter ought to be informed by and have trust in the former. Anything else would be utter folly."

There was more heated debate following this pronouncement. Anakin found his mind wandering again. C'Baoth wasn't at all afraid of these politicians. In fact, it was evident to him, through the Force, that the politicians were a little afraid of _him._ More intriguing than that, however, was the fact that C'Baoth seemed comfortable asking – or rather, demanding – what he wanted from them. As though there were a natural alliance of the political order and those who wielded the Force. It was a bit different from the view Obi Wan had subtly, steadily imparted to him. _Politicians are not to be trusted. The Jedi must keep themselves aloof form particular political movements and causes. Beware the realm of politics, Padawan: the shifting sands of rhetoric and appearances are no place to discover the Living Force. _And so on. C'Baoth had a reputation, a public face. Everyone here knew exactly who he was. How did that fit with the idea of Jedi anonymity?

Anakin had loved his one moment of fame, on Tatooine, after the Boonta Eve pod race. What was wrong with fame, with being a _somebody_, rather than just a lowly _nobody_, a slave born to a slave on a nowhere world in the middle of nowhere?

He didn't notice that the meeting had ended. He was alone in the room with C'Baoth.

"Your mind is wandering, Padawan," the Jedi master said sternly.

"I'm sorry, master." His heart gave a thud.

"Tell me your thoughts, then."

It was unthinkable to disobey Jorus C'Baoth. "I was just wondering about something Master Obi Wan always tells me." He paused, but the tall Jedi only nodded. "He always says that a Jedi should be anonymous, should not crave public recognition or fame."

C'Baoth snorted. "And what do you think of that, Skywalker?"

"Well, I grew up as a slave….I don't see what's wrong with proving yourself. With showing people what you can do, and being able to convince them because you are who you are, and not what they might think." Another thought struck him. "Master Obi Wan has done some great things. Why doesn't he want anyone to praise him for it? He deserves the honor."

C'Baoth frowned. "Master Kenobi only repeats what he has been told. And if he is uncomfortable with public accolades, that is likely an indication that it is his destiny to play a less important or effectual role in the history of the galaxy. We all gravitate to our natural place in the order of things. A born leader is never shy of admiration."

Anakin scrunched up his nose and trotted back down the corridor at C'Baoth's heels. "Master, what's _Outbound Flight_?" he asked.

"A bold attempt to save what is best and untarnished in the Republic. I have foreseen dark times ahead, young Padawan. The Republic is floundering in a sea of darkness and corruption. The only hope we have is to preserve what is good, and to send it away into a new, unsullied future. The old and corrupt….will have to die and be forgotten." His eyes took on a faraway, visionary look.

"Like an escape pod?" Anakin said, unsure what the old Jedi was raving about.

C'Baoth cocked a bushy eyebrow. "From a burning ship, Padawan."

"Doesn't a good captain always go down with his ship?"

Jorus C'Baoth stopped and half turned. His expression was intense, indecipherable. "Only a fool goes down with a burning ship. Young Skywalker. Only a fool."


	5. Chapter 5

**Teaching Credentials**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 5<strong>

The mountains of Ilum guarded their treasures jealously. Steep, ragged slopes covered in ice deterred any but the few native gundarks from climbing any higher than the treeline. Sudden storms raged over the peaks without predictable pattern, making it inadvisable to land a space or aircraft too near the summit. And, to one sensitive to such things, the heights were suffused with the Force, rich in its living power. It might give one a certain vertigo, a complement to the more physical dizziness brought on by the sheer elevation, where the towering spars of rock thrust up into a thinner atmosphere.

"Tell me again why you invited me on this little expedition," Garen Muln grumbled, as pellets of ice spattered into the knee-deep snow on every side. The two Jedi used the Force to shield themselves from the onslaught. An easy matter- its power flowed around them in a steady current, permeating every muscle, coiling like a foaming river around every thought.

"For your positive attitude and encouraging conversation," Obi Wan replied, smiling to himself as he bent his head against the bitter wind descending from the mountaintop. They had just hiked past the cover of the treeline. Ahead lay a cave – a cave of crystal formations, minerals of exquisite beauty and unique properties. Crystals that could refract, focus the Force itself. They called out to their seekers, announcing their presence, a medley of soundless and achingly beautiful chimes.

"Every time I go somewhere with you, it means trouble," Garen observed.

"_I'm _not the one who decided to tangle with that draigon on –"

"Thank you, I'm aware of that," Garen interjected. "But you _were_ the one who suggested we take the short cut."

"Yes, but as I recall, I wasn't able to examine the map as thoroughly as I would have liked."

Garen let loose a short bark of laughter, his breath forming an ephemeral white cloud. "Master Qui Gon _told _me not to let you have it. He said you would overthink the whole situation."

"He did?"

Garen laughed again, silently, until his sides ached, as his companion muddled this over, chagrin and humor mixing in equal parts. He could feel every nuance in his friend's mood, the Force was so full nad transparent here.

"Last time I came here, it was with Qui Gon."

Garen took a few paces in silence. The topic of Master Qui Gon Jinn was under normal circumstances forbidden territory. He waited for Obi Wan to continue – after all, he had learned his lesson abot tangling with delicate temperaments, like that draigon so many years ago.

"I don't understand why Yoda is so concerned about me carrying Qui Gon's saber. It's an old tradition."

Garen rolled his eyes. _Here he goes…_

"It can't be a question of competency. I've built a saber long before now."

Garen shook his head.

"Unless it's a way to de-emphasize the teaching line. Because of Dooku."

Another few paces up the grueling slope.

"But that makes no sense. Qui Gon had his moments with the Council, and he said some of the same things Dooku did, but he never would have left the Order."

Garen sighed, biting back another laugh. "You're overthinking it!" he exclaimed.

Obi Wan grimaced, shot him a pained look, and kept going.

"It's not about Qui Gon. It's about you, bantha-brain. You don't need Qui Gon's saber to symbolize your worthiness. You stand on your own. Make your own saber. You are a Jedi Knight because that's who you are, who you've become. You can't be stained by Dooku's shadow, or even Qui Gon's, in the eyes of the Council – you aren't attached to them in that way. You choose for yourself, you are judged in your own right, and you fulfill your own destiny, not theirs. That's all he meant."

Obi Wan stopped dead and stared at him.

"No more worrying, chosski-head."

* * *

><p>"Can we maybe take a break, master? It's past dinnertime."<p>

Jorus C'Baoth stilled any further protest with a single burning look. "A Jedi does not concern himself with such trivialities. You will eat when the occasion arises."

Anakin shifted where he stood, his stomach growling uncomfortably. He hated being hungry. It reminded him of all the half-starved nights he had spent with his mother in Gardulla the Hutt's slave quarters, of the lean portions they could afford when they were owned by Watto…

"Surely your master does not indulge such a childish attitude?" C'Baoth said.

"Well, it's more like we have an understanding," Anakin struggled to explain. "He says there's no point in starving your Padawan – it just makes everybody grumpy in the end."

"An immature perspective," C'Baoth declared. "One you would do well to outgrow. Now, the exercise, if you please."

Anakin stifled a sigh and closed his eyes. C'Baoth held the reader in front of himself, randomly shifting images flickering across its screen. Though Anakin could not see the surface of the small hand-held device, the clear outline of each successive figure popped into his mind as clearly as though he were looking over C'Baoth's shoulder. It was, truth be told, stultifyingly easy.

"A speeder…a leaf…a cup…a sun…a rope…a hand…a thing with a hook at the end and a funny sort of ridged whatsit at the other end."

"A vibro-scythe," the Jedi master supplied.

"Nothing…a hand…a doorway…a man, no a TwiLek man…a –"

"Excellent," C'Baoth muttered, shutting down the device. "Astounding. How often do you practice this?"

Anakin frowned. "Like this, you mean? Never."

Now Jorus C'Baoth narrowed his eyes. "What standard tests does your master employ to measure your powers?"

Anakin shrugged. "I don't really know. Um…we don't really do this sort of thing at all. He doesn't make me do…tests."

"Without a measure it is difficult to know whether you have increased in potential and strength. Those with extraordinary powers are morally obliged to increase them further," C'Baoth scowled.

"Actually, Master Obi Wan usually lectures me about _restraint,_" the boy admitted.

That had C'Baoth making a small noise of digust. "Listen to me, youngling. Restraint is not required of a Jedi with your level of talent. Much the opposite. You must push yourself, to achieve greater and greater mastery. That is the Jedi path: to achieve mastery of the Force."

"I thought….what about service to others?"

"Yes, of course," C'Baoth dismissed this with a wave of his hand. "Mastery in order to give service. But never hold yourself back from some false sense of modesty or caution. Those are dangerous habits indeed. I fear you may come to emulate your master's timidity."

Obi Wan timid? That didn't quite match Anakin's experience of his teacher. True, he seldom charged straight into a sticky situation, and he always resorted to trickery or diplomacy if at all possible, but once the sabaac cards were on the table – so to speak – well….Anakin had been his Padawan long enough to have seen a thing or two. And he had overheard that conversation between Obi Wan and Master Qui Gon, at the docking platform, before the invasion of Naboo. That exchange had revealed much to his young and perceptive mind. Obi Wan Kenobi was bold enough to get right up in Master Qui Gon's face – telling the older Jedi he was wrong, he was foolish and stubborn and deluded and that he flat out disagreed with his decision. The tension between the two Jedi had been unbearable, like two electric storms clashing high over the desert. There hadn't been much timidity on either side.

"I don't think that will happen," he said, uncertainly.

"No? Be sure it doesn't. I must say, were I in his place I would encourage you to seek out new challenges daily. To stretch yourself past the conventional bounds of Temple training."

Now he had Anakin's full attention. That sounded like an invitation. And since Obi Wan wasn't here to object…

"Master C'Baoth? Can I show you something? Out in the city, tomorrow? Something I've been wanting to try, only –"

"Your master wouldn't permit it? Certainly. I look forward to it."

"Thank you, Master C'Baoth."


	6. Chapter 6

**Teaching Credentials**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 6<strong>

Never mind the visions that waited within the caves proper; it was hard enough just to pass beyond the threshold. Obi Wan knelt down in meditation posture a few meters within the narrow opening of the cave he had chosen. Outside, Garen Muln stood alert, to ward off any intruders – predatory or otherwise – which might stumble in and interrupt his quest for a lightsaber crystal. To locate the rare mineral within the cave complex was itself a feat, one requiring a trance-state of the deepest concentration, an opening of the mind that rendered one vulnerable. To apparitions, to memory. To the Light for which the planet was named and also the Dark. Moving through the glittering caves was a ceremony; it stripped a Jedi of his defenses and revealed his innermost core.

The Force was gathered and magnified here to a resounding stillness. It beat beneath his pulse, swelled within each breath. It poured into his mind like a flooding river. He could run, or resist and drown- or submit and flow with it, upon its current. What was the first barrier, the first test to be? A false vision? A premonition of the future?

No. A memory. Not buried deeply enough to escape the cave's subtle promptings. Full of sorrow and numb exhaustion. He was in Theed again, speaking to Anakin, just arrived back in the palace hangar bay with the remainder of the Nubian Defense Fleet, fresh from destroying the Trade Federation core ship, brimming with triumph and exhilaration.

"_Where's Master Qui Gon?" the boy asked._

_Captain Panaka had persuaded him, with difficulty, to let his own men see to the body. "He….was killed, Anakin." He dropped down to one knee, seeing the sudden shattering of the boy's joy, the shock and horror. Tears began to dribble from Anakin's eyes, spattering on his already filthy tunic._

"_The assassin?" he asked. Obi Wan nodded, mutely. "What about him?" Anakin demanded, fiercely, biting his lower lip, eyes alight with a desperate need for justice, or vengeance._

"_He was also killed," Obi Wan told him heavily._

"_You did it," Anakin said, looking him in the face, looking through him. "I can feel what you did…I can see it!" He stepped backward as though burned. His face took on a new expression, one of awe and admiration and a strange fear. His eyes flicked to the lightsaber hanging on Obi Wan's belt and he just stared and cried._

_Other people were approaching now: security officers, pilots, the young Queen, one of the absurd Gungans…players in a surreal charade. The Force still shuddered with the violence of Qui Gon's death, the swift and bitter destruction of his Sith foe._

_Anakin could feel it, too. "Make it stop," he whimpered between silent sobs, looking at Obi Wan with the seeds of anger, of desperate fear, smoldering in his eyes, in the Force._

_Obi Wan felt fear, then, too. Fear for what he had sworn to do. Knowledge that he would never back out of the promise, come what may. What had he done? The Queen ran up to them, shepherded the boy away, enfolding him in an embrace, drawing him into the warm protective circle of her handmaidens, leaving the young Knight outside, alone, as the Force snowed down grief and death upon him. Alone with his promise._

_The pilots and mechanics and security personnel went about their business, the Gungans jabbered and rambled about, the hangar bay swarmed with frenetic activity. He watched the retreating form of the boy who had just looked at him with such old, old eyes. Whom he had promised to make his own student. Whom, he knew with the grim certainty of premonition, would change his life forever._

And he understood that power, to Anakin, was intoxicating and terrifying. He vowed, then and there, never to unleash his own in quite the same way again. To practice and teach restraint, humility, patience, and compassion above all else. For both their sakes.

The cavern seemed to breathe out again, the unbearable heaviness of the air ease a trifle. He stood and moved forward, letting the memory fade. Yes, Anakin: a Jedi is someone who can channel overwhelming power. But so is a Sith. What makes a Jedi is this: that he can do this, but he chooses _not_ to, most the time. He chooses to renounce the way of power and take up the path of humility. To serve, not to rule. To be nothing, not something. That is what makes a Jedi: not his ability, not his power, but this power bounded by self-negation.

Ice crunched under his boots as he walked slowly through the cave, deeper and deeper into its heart. Sparkling mineral deposits veined the walls; fantastic formations of crystal ornamented the cracks and crevices of its walls. But not yet the ones he needed. They were deeper still, buried in the living rock, responding to his presence and answering his intrusion with a brief panoply of apparitions, mirages. All those who had ever sought his destruction or defeat swarmed before him, one after another, crowding the edges of consciousness, neither wholly within or without. Darth Maul and Xanatos and Bruck Chun and many others: a horde of Chagrian pirates, a footman droid, bounty hunters and assasins and slave drivers and Mandalorian warriors and proud rulers of other worlds, and soldiers from yet others, and Raxis and Nolid from Antar IV and the slave drivers on Bandomeer, and a mess of ravenous firebeetles, and a dragon beast, and countless other beings…..and there – in their midst – the imposing figure of Jorus C'Baoth, dark eyes gleaming with a strange light.

That didn't make sense.

But then, it didn't need to. He pushed on, ignoring the visions with difficulty. They shouted and swirled around him, seeking to delay his progress, bring him to a halt. Why should Jorus C'Baoth be counted among his enemies?

_An enemy, hm. An enemy, one whom you fear is._

Yoda's words echoed in memory. If that was true, then why did he fear C'Baoth? The other Jedi meant him no personal harm, surely. He only wished to take Anakin as his own student. He only wished to board a leviathan spaceship and sail clear out of the known galaxy in search of pure, unsullied worlds on which to found a private utopia, an obsessive fantasy.

_I fear his obsession. I fear what it could do to Anakin. I fear that I am helpless to stop him, that I will be overruled and the matter decided without my say. _Which would be victorious in debate before the Council? C'Baoth's dearest desire, or Qui Gon's dying wish?

_You're overthinking it! It's not about Qui Gon. It's about you, chosski head. _

He smiled. Garen was right. Neither C'Baoth nor Qui Gon would have more sway with the Council. In fact, the question was not whether C'Baoth could convince the Council; it was whether he could convince Obi Wan. Were his accusations true or not? The only strength and meaning his arguments had were in the seeds fo doubt he had planted in his opponent's own mind.

He looked the phantasm of Jorus C'Baoth in the eye. "No," he told it.

The illusions faded and scattered, seeping back into the walls of the cave, evaporating like a jungle mist at daybreak.

And straight ahead, pulsing invisibly, sounding out a pure deep resonant note in the Force, was a brilliant Ilum crystal. It sang a low, sweet and sad melody within the silent harmony of the plenum; when he touched it gently with two fingers, it sent a thrill through him like the current of a deep river cascading from the heights. It was a beautiful specimen, Cerulean blue like the skies of some young, innocent world. When he touched it with the Force, it snapped away from the living stone in which it had grown, and he simultaneously felt the snap at the base of his spine. He held it in his hand, wondering that he hadn't noticed it before, and knowing that he might never understand.

He carefully set it inside the inner pocket of his tunic, next to his heart, and turned to leave. The first task was complete.

* * *

><p>Anakin instructed the airtaxi driver to drop them off outside the industrial sector proper. It was what he normally did when he made one of these rare but delightful trips away from the Temple to explore the pleasures of Coruscant's Galactic City at his own leisure. Of course, such expeditions had to be undertaken secretly – which made them all the more enticing. This time he was traveling in quest of new thrills and challenges with the explicit permission of his teacher – or at least, the permission of Jorus C'Baoth. What Obi Wan might think about this trip…well, that didn't matter. And if all went well, he would never find out.<p>

The Lichii District wasn't one of the most affluent parts of the city planet to begin with, and its abandoned industrial sector – which had been a prime shipyard in its day, before Allanteen VI and Vandor and other sites had rendered it obsolete – was still cluttered with the rusting and decaying corpses of old ships and the machinery used to build them. Vast warehouses and decrepit hangar bays and old foundries sprawled in every direction. Between them was threaded the remains of an old maglev transport system, dating from an era when repulsorlifts were still too expensive for common use. The mag rails made a spider web of intersecting and radiating lines, joining the various buildings in the district. A secondary outer system united them in a kind of highway system – a magnificent if somewhat dilapidated construct, covering countless klicks of distance as it looped and wove through the various subdistricts in one continuous line. The public transports and heavy freighter cars which had once used this rail were long ago scrapped and gone. But…

"Those small vehicles on the track," C;Baoth squinted at the spectacle of the brightly colored pods now zipping at break neck speed along the track, so small that four could fit side by side across the wide band of mag-track.

"They're racers!" Anakin whispered reverently. Racers which required _no engine!_ Racers that were propelled by the maglev system itself, so light and maneuverable that to pilot one would feel like riding a lightning bolt down the sky, like skimmimg on thought itself. He was breathless and speechless. Just think. Obi Wan had actually discovered this place before he had. Obi Wan would never even think of getting into one of those racers. He would probably rather be thrown into a rancor pit – bound hand and foot, without his lightsaber.

"You wish to pilot one of those racers," C'Baoth observed calmly.

"Yes, master," Anakin admitted ruefully. "But I know it's –"

"Then why don't you?" the silver haired Jedi master demanded.

Anakin gaped. "Uh….because it's forbidden?"

"There is no such prohibition in the Code. Why would you hesitate to reach out and grasp at your ambition, young Skywalker? Who is going to stop you? You are a Jedi. Once you form a purpose in your mind, do not deviate from it, or hesitate and second guess yourself. There is no try. Do or do not. And you came here to pilot one of those racers."

"Oh. Well, actually, I was just curious because of something Obi Wan told me. I just wanted a look, and –"

"You there!" C'Baoth hailed a tall, thin humanoid slinking his way toward a nearby hangar. "What is your business here?"

The man stopped and stared at them, his mouth popping open in surprise and then fear as his eyes came to rest on C'Baoth's lightsaber, hanging very visibly at his side.

"Oh - I work here," the unfortunate being lied.

"There are no operational factories here," the tall Jedi scoffed. "Do not try to deceive me. You are here to enter these illegal races."

"I? No! It's illegal, as you say….I surely would never be involved in, in anything so questionable." The man nervously patted his vest pockets and shifted on the spot.

"No? Then what is this?" With a deft flick of his hand, C'Baoth summoned a lightweight ignition coder from the man's inner pocket. It flew into the Jedi's open hand.

"Nothing!" the terrified humanoid squeaked.

"No? And if I were to enter this hangar, I would not discover an illegal racing pod waiting for your use? One which will match this key exactly?"

The miserable would-be racer made a sorrowful face. "Please don't turn me over to the authorities. It'll be my ruin. I have a family!"

"I know nothing of that," C'Baoth said scornfully.

The man dropped to his knees. "Please!" he begged. "Whatever you say!"

C'Baoth held up an imperious hand. "Very well. You will leave this place and never return. I will take this key as a pledge of your good conduct. Return to your normal pursuits and do not indulge in this dangerous and criminal activity any longer. Do this, and I will forget that I saw you here."

The man cringed and sobbed his agreement, and took his leave in a hurry, casting looks over his shoulder as though he half-expected C'Baoth to hurl a thunderbolt at his back.

When the man had departed, C'Baoth gave the ignition key to Anakin. "There you are, Padawan. One attempt will be sufficient to test your skills and satisfy your curiosity." It was a statement, not a question or even a suggestion.

Anakin stood, unmoving. "He seemed….scared."

"Of course he was. The weak minded have only two modes of existence: delusional self confidence, and fear."

"And it is his racer. I mean, is it right to just take it like that?"

"It was not right for him to have it. I have merely set him on a better path in his life, and therefore served his best interest. That is our duty, as Jedi."

"But…did you have to be rude?"

C'Baoth lowered his eyebrows and bestowed a withering look on the boy who stood so stubbornly before him.

"There is no question of such a breach of manners between a Force-sensitive and one who is bereft of the Force. We do not owe the same courtesy to such a person as we do to a fellow Jedi. You must be more aware of your inherent dignity, young Skywalker. Command respect. It is your birthright."

Anakin nodded, not quite sure about any of this. The ignition key felt cool and smooth between his fingers. C'Baoth stood, waiting for him to speak.

"Let's have a look at the racer," the boy decided.


	7. Chapter 7

**Teaching Credentials**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 7<strong>

"Do you need any help?" Garen Muln asked.

The pilot of the small diplomatic ship extricated his head and shoulders from the storage compartment and looked at the Jedi in surprise.

"No, sir," he replied. "Just thought I'd make some use of the spare time. Replace some of the console lights and fix up a few loose bits I found in the computer interface panels. Housekeeping. If I can find the spare parts," he added with a grin.

"Oh. Well, I was _hoping_ you needed assistance, to be quite frank. We might be here a while."

The pilot backed up a pace and dusted off his republic Diplomatic Corps uniform. "I see. Going to take a bit of time, is it? Sorry…I don't really know anything about it. I mean, Master Kenobi – is he building it here on the ship?"

Garen nearly laughed aloud at the nervous look on the man's face. "Why so apprehensive?"

The pilot blushed, but Garen smiled encouragingly, so he cleared his throat and plowed onward. "They say that a botched lightsaber – well, that if one doesn't get it right, it can blow up."

Garen shrugged. "True." Then, because the poor fellow looked so stricken, he added," But there's no need to worry. He's really _very_ good. I can promise you. We grew up together, you know."

The pilot grabbed a box of circuitry and lighting components from a shelf and slammed the compartment hatch shut. "Really? That's…odd. I guess I never thought about that, either. I mean – you don't mind me talking about this? I know it's not really protocol…"

"But I'm easy to talk to?" Garen made a face. Well, every Jedi had a special talent. He liked to think that his was in the realm of piloting, but he had to admit that people everywhere had a habit of spilling their guts to him. Sometimes it came in useful, sometimes not so much. He was, like or not, what they called "approachable." Unlike his best friend, who – when he felt like it – could exude a wall of cool reserve so solid that blaster bolts would rebound off it.

"Sure. Anyway, they say you Jedi don't have family. No real ties to anyone at all."

Garen relieved hinm of the heavy box and led the way to the cockpit, where the minor adjustments needed to be made. It was all routine, boring maintenance, but it was good to have company. Obi Wan was in a trance, absorbed in building his new lightsaber, and strictly _not_ to be disturbed. "You believe that?" he asked.

The pilot held up his hands noncommittally and started installing new interface components, discarding the used ones in a neat pile at his feet. Garen handed him the new pieces from the storage box.

"Do _you_ have a family?"

"Sure. On Coruscant. Wife and two kids. Corellian inlaws – that's a lot of fun, I can tell you. Life's pretty good at home, but I don't see enough of it. Four more years in the Corps, and I'm going to retire early. Start a private courier business, you know? Better for the kids to have dad at home. Might be able to move back to Corellia- they could know their grandparents better. We could fish in the seas there. Water's still clean, there's plenty to catch."

"Sounds wonderful," the young Jedi replied politely, though the whole scenario was far outside his experience.

The man unbent from the task and ran a routine system reboot on the shipboard computer. He certainly knew his business. "You Jedi retire eventually? Ever settle down?"

Garen cocked his head to the side. "Not really. We're restless types, mostly."

The pilot chuckled. It's funny," he said. "You're really pretty human."

"I'm _all_ human, actually."

"That's not what I meant. Can I ask you something personal? What's it like? Being full of the Force all the time?"

The young Knight sobered. "You already know," he said earnestly. "You're full of it right now. All the time. You just don't feel it. But everyone – every living being – moves and breathes and thinks and feels with the Force. Not just Jedi."

The pilot studied him seriously for a few moments and then blinked. "Hey," he said finally. "That's….wonderful. Really. Thank you."

"You're welcome. Now: what about some food? I'm starving."

* * *

><p>The pilot turned out to be a cunning chef. After all, anyone who could turn stale ship rations into anything remotely appealing and edible had to be credited with extraordinary skill or ingenuity. After dinner and a game of sabaac which he lost because he had no taste for such things, Garen poked his head into the aft cabin. He had felt the subtle change in the Force during the card game, and knew that his friend was finished, after twelve hours of intense Force-guided crafting and painstaking adjustments.<p>

Now as he peeked into the tiny room, he saw the small container of alloy metal parts and power cell circuits which they had brought from the Temple, neatly tucked in one corner. Their snow gear, which had been damp and heavy with frost, was tossed across one of the bunks, and Obi Wan was sprawled atop the other, fully dressed and sound asleep. The gleaming hilt of his new handiwork, already hanging at his belt, caught and reflected the beam of light shafting in from the passageway.

Garen entered and peered closely at the new saber, not touching it. Beneath the silver alloy casing, the hilt grip was ridged, like Qui Gon's – a tribute to the great Jedi. The outer design was more antique in design – symmetrical, elegant lines, and a rounded pommel ornamented with blunt crenellations. Very old school, understated. Typical Obi Wan. Garen had seen the crystal before his friend had set about the difficult task of building the weapon itself. The crystal was compact, full of fiery light, a shocking cold and cutting blue. Gorgeous. The formal, unassuming exterior of the saber was a hiding place for this secret fire. The blade would be pure, bright, and unusually powerful. Also, he reflected, somehow typical of its owner.

He dropped the snow gear onto the deck, and flopped down on the other bunk. Their mission here was accomplished. Garen shut his eyes. His last thought before drifting off was, _Watch out Jorus C'Baoth, you old son of a gundark. Watch out._

* * *

><p>Anakin grasped the directional controls of the speeder more firmly and took the next turn at a sharp angle, allowing the little pod to slip nearly off the edge of the maglev track as the centrifugal force of his speed threw him around the bend.<p>

This thing was sweet all right. Fitted with a mag-unit instead of an engine, the pod had little weight. No weight meant no drag. And no drag meant…well, this just couldn't get any better. There were four racers in front of him, blocking the track ahead in a tight pack. Casually he increased the magnetic field intensity, and his tiny scoop of a vehicle shot forward. The genius of building such tiny pods – nothing more than a one-man shell sitting atop an industrial strength maglev unit, and equipped with a bare minimum of steering and speed regulators – was that running such a featherweight contraption along a track designed to move massive freight trains was like harnessing a rickety wagon to a hyperdrive ring.

Genius. He caught up with the four racers ahead, nearly slamming into their tail lights, and then used the Force to nudge himself upwards – just two meters, maybe a little less. He soared over their heads, and then skidded back down onto the track, cushioned by the magnetic resistance. The curses of those he had just jumped were impossible to hear through the bubble cockpit, but he could feel their dismay and shock through the Force.

Straight ahead was another tight curve. This time he hugged the inside, taking the loop as fast as he dared, approaching another competitor. The idea of the race, so far as he could make out, was to complete six circuits of the wide highway system. Over a hundred pods had been entered in the illegal competition, and he had heard rumor that the prize offered to the winner was a small fortune. More than he had won on Tatooine, at the Boonta Eve podrace. Core world gambling was a lucrative pastime. Many of the racers here were patronized by rich businessmen, famous celebrities, probably a few greedy politicians. The entry fee would have been staggering; this was a game for the elite, with a purse to match. Not that Anakin cared about that.

No, he was lost in a dream of speed and power. He loved racing, always had, always would. Now, as he jumped over the next group of racers in the same way he had surpassed the last set, he grinned with ferocious delight. This was going to be another easy victory for Anakin Skywalker, ex-slave, champion podracer, and future Jedi.

The pod in front of him veered sharply to the right, dropping a small object out of a concealed hatch in its undercarriage. The heavy grey box clumped onto the magnetic rail directly in Anakin's path. On reflex, he pulled his craft to the right, to avoid a collision – and jerked violently to the left instead. He reduced speed, and found himself spinning out of control.

"Poodoo!" he hissed between gritted teeth, pulling and punching at the controls. The thing on the rails must be a field disruptor – it had broken and disturbed the magnetic current, sending his little pod flying out of control. He spun across the track, edging dangerously close to the rim and a hundred meter drop onto permacrete below. Vaguely he was aware of another racer zooming into range and falling into the same trap. The new pod actually flipped end over end when it hit the disruptor's sphere of influence, and plummeted over the edge. A third pod hit the affected area at breakneck speed and spun out, careening toward Anakin on a collison course. The driver's shriek of terror tore through the Force like fire.

Anakin reached out and seized the flying pod with his mind, threw it back onto the track, away from himself. The effort made him shudder. _Did I do that? Did I really do that?_ The Force flowed through him, a turbulent rush of wind and light. His own ship plummeted off the edge fo the rail, in slow motion. He slammed open the cokpit and jumped clear, sailing through the air and missing the edge. He fell somersaulting, remembering to stay calm as Obi Wan had drilled into him, and spotted the strut below. His fingers fumbled, found his cable launcher, activated it. He was past the strut now; it was above. He fired and waited for the jolt.

His arms screamed in protest as he jerked to a stop at the end of the dangling wire. He swayed in the breeze, gazing down at his pod as it found its way to the distant city understories and exploded into flames. He could almost hear Obi Wan's voice, ringing with exasperation. _Well, that was brilliant. Suicide is not the Jedi way. I hope you're satisfied, Anakin._

"Sorry," he muttered. "Sorry." And began the climb up the cable, and onto the support beam. From there it was an easier ascent, Force leaping along the huge trestles until he had regained the edge of the track.. by now the race would be over, and the winner exulting in his triumph. Probably the poodoo head who had dropped the field disruptor in his path. Bitterly he glanced back along the length of the magrail where the disaster had begun.

Jorus C'Baoth was striding calmly down the center of the track, white hair and beard blowing in the light wind, dark cloak billowing around him.

"What happened?" he demanded.

"There was another racer – he used a field disruptor. Someone else went over the edge too. I could only save one…I lost my pod, too. I guess this was a bad idea." His shoulders slumped.

C'Baoth didn't issue the expected reprimand. "Which racer was the cheat?" he asked.

"I could identify him if I saw him, but –"

"Then let us go investigate. Such an action ought not to be left unpunished."

Anakin's jaw dropped, but he didn't dare argue with the imposing Jedi master. Silently he trotted along behind C'Baoth as they made their way to the end of the course and the winner's circle.


	8. Chapter 8

**Teaching Credentials**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 8<strong>

Obi Wan started awake, hand on lightsaber hilt.

The sleeping compartment aboard the diplomatic cruiser was dark. Somewhere nearby, Garen Muln also stirred into wakefulness, sensing the disturbance in the Force created by his friend's sharp reaction. "Danger?" he whispered.

Obi Wan shook his head. "A dream." He had seen Anakin fall from a great height; there had been flames and explosions. And a sickening sense of speed and reckless abandon, malicious intent. The elements of the vision clouded together in a retreating fog. He banished the images from his mind – and yet, intuition left a thin thread of certainty behind. All was not well.

He went forward to the cockpit, where the pilot was resting in his chair, the shipboard computer keeping all systems on standby as they sailed through hyperspace at an economical, unhurried speed, only a small exponential multiple of the speed of light. Obi Wan tapped him gently on the shoulder.

"Hm?" the pilot grunted, suddenly snapping to attention as he realized who was standing over him. "I apologize, master Jedi. Is there something wrong?"

"No, no. Nothing to do with our journey," Obi Wan explained apologetically. "But I must request that we drop back into realspace at the first convenient opportunity. I need to send a transmission to Coruscant."

The pilot turned to the nav computer and made a few short calculations. "Easy," he said. "Just ten minutes. We'll drop in off the far side of the Mid Rim gap. Good spot for communications – nothing's ever happening out there.".

"Thank you."

By the time they had reverted to normal space and found an open comm. relay signal, Garen had appeared in the cockpit behind them, full of silent curiosity. The transmission to the Temple was transferred to Yoda directly.

"Obi Wan," the tiny master's holographic image grumbled. "In the Mid Rim, are you already? Expected back for another two days, you were not."

"I worked fast," he explained tersely. "I did not understand that there was a specific schedule implied in the assignment. "

Yoda eyed him keenly, rumbling deep in his throat at the mild sarcasm. "Troubled you are. Ill news do you have?"

"I hope not, master. But….is all well with Anakin?"

Yoda's ears twitched. "In capable hands is your Padawan, Obi Wan."

"Yes, master. But I have a bad feeling."

Yoda shifted his weight and looked sideways at somebody off the holo plate's video transceiver range, most likely Mace Windu. Then his gaze returned to the camera. "Hm. Nothing can you do from such a distance. Master C'Baoth's problem is this, for the moment."

"I understand," Obi Wan said, not bothering to hide his displeasure.

Yoda ignored his tone. "Built a new saber have you?" he asked.

"Yes, master. It is complete."

"Impressive, that is. Return to the Temple. Much for you to do, is there."

When the link was severed, and the pilot had recalculated their coordinates and eased them back into hyperspace, Garen spoke up. "There are your words of comfort: whatever trouble Anakin may have found for himself, he has Master Jorus C'Boath to help him."

Obi Wan smiled bitterly. "And that makes it so much better."

* * *

><p>"You," Jorus C'Baoth addressed the Dug who had won the illegal race. "How do you take pleasure in your victory when it was gained by deceit rather than skill?" His deep voice boomed out over the crowd, and the drinking and carousing of the many beings in the pavilion ceased, all heads turning to the source of the conflict.<p>

"What bantha poodoo you spit at me, old stupid human?" the Dug responded, in broken Basic, sloshing half his Malastarian over the rim of the long stemmed glass he held in one of his feet.

"My friend here witnessed you using a field disruptor to gain an advantage in the race," C'Baoth thundered on, unperturbed. "Do you deny it?" An outbreak of angry murmurs erupted at this accusation, and some of the more inebriated members of the celebratory gathering moved closer to the Dug, threatening.

The champion glanced contemptuously around him, and then met C'Baoth's eyes levelly. "I no care for your chizzska, old fart. Your little slop-brat lucky to be alive. Who you that I care what you think?"

In the blink of an eye C'Baoth's lightsaber was in his hand and ignited. Its spitting buzz silenced the whole room, and the Dug's face was cast in sharp shadow by its bright glare.

"Oh….Jedi," he stuttered, sloshing more of the drink down his front.

"I suggest you show proper respect," C'Baoth growled. "And hand over your winnings to me. You are unworthy to have them."

The Dug scowled and thrust a foot into the pocket of his close-fitting racer's jacket. He withdrew a small pouch, which he tossed to Anakin. It clinked as it hit his hand.

"Jedi charra-quiss," the Dug spat, downing the remainder of his drink and ordering another with a wave of his free foot. His slitted eyes watched the saber warily, but his posture was proud and defiant.

Before Anakin could draw a breath, C'Baoth had flicked one hand, a tiny motion, and sent the Dug sprawling backward off his barstool and onto the ground, his glass shattering on the bar as he fell. He jumped up to return the compliment in kind, but several of the other patrons held him back, sensing that such an encounter would end in disaster and an unsightly mess.

C'Baoth cast a dark look around the entire assembly and spun on his heel to exit, causing several other beings to leap and scramble out of the way as he made a line for the door. Anakin followed closely behind, casting several looks over his shoulder at the stunned and fearful beings in the winner's pavilion. The Dug caught his eye.

"Kiss your master's feet, little Jedi slave brat," he spat out. "An honor bout tonight, sleemo! In the Pit! Filthy coward!" he challenged.

Anakin turned, frowning, and hurried to catch up with C'Baoth's long stride.

"What's an honor bout?" he asked the Jedi master.

"A barbaric custom. A form of dueling in which some dispute over property or social standing is resolved through hand to hand combat. A Dug tribal custom."

"Oh. He just challenged me back there."

"Pay him no heed," C'Baoth counseled sternly. "It is beneath your dignity as a Jedi to give any attention to such an inferior being's ravings. His notions of honor and justice do not apply to you."

Anakin hurried along, still fuming. The Dug had called him a _slave - _a shot in the dark, but one that hit its mark.

"Now," C'Baoth decided. "That money. It should be given to a worthy cause."

The boy brightened a little. "It's a lot of cash. What about one of the relief shelters? The ones that take in vagabonds and escaped slaves from the Rim worlds? They could use a donation."

C'Baoth studied him thoughtfully. "Your desire to improve society is admirable. But there are even more pressing matters which need funding. Give me the pouch."

Anakin handed it over, wondering what could be more important than relieving the suffering of the galaxy's poorest and most miserable denizens, but unwilling to argue with C'Baoth. After all, it looked as though he were not going to be upbraided _at all_ for his part in today's racing misadventure. And what Obi Wan might say about that, he really didn't want to imagine.

* * *

><p>"Where are <em>you<em> going?" Garen Muln demanded, one foot already inside the airspeeder standing ready to take them back to the Temple complex. "I thought you were eager to find out how your Padawan has been faring."

"I am," Obi Wan answered. "Just make my excuses. I'll be back as soon as possible. There's something I need to look into first."

"Oh, I've heard that before." Garen rolled his eyes. "Very well. If anyone asks, I have no idea where you are. Which will be quite true."

They bowed to each other, and Garen stepped lightly into the speeder, waving the driver to take off into the streams of air traffic crowding and streaming on every side. Obi Wan turned and made his way to a large public transport airbus, which promised to stop in the Garlaarb district transport hub, just outside CoCo town. If anyone might know where in Courscant to look for the specific kind of trouble he was anticipating, it would be Dex.

"Obi Wan!" the enormous Besalisk roared affectionately as he entered. "Well, now, that's better! It's only been a matter of months this time."

"Really Dex," he replied, "Uuuunngh! Not so hard….you'll break something."

The owner of Dexter's Diner, a greasy spoon establishment in the heart of CoCO Town, waggled his throat sack and released the Jedi from his suffocating embrace. "Grouchy. Tsk, tsk. What's botherin' ya, huh? Trouble with the ladies? Difficult to believe, now."

"Hardly," Obi Wan said repressively. "I was wondering if you know anything about the new maglev racing strip out in the Lichii district."

"Not a thing!" the Besalisk bellowed, winking and beckoning his guest back into the kitchens where nobody could hear them. "Why would I know anything about illegal racin'? I'm a respectable citizen, ya know."

They squeezed through the revolving doors and threaded their way past the busy cooks inside Dexter's noisy, bustling kitchen. Clouds of steam and shouted orders filled the air. The scent of inexpensive cooking oils was choking. Dex shoved open the heavy door to a refrigerator unit and stepped inside, pulling Obi Wan after him.

In the icy silence and privacy of the cooler, surrounded by packages of prefab protein board and other ingredients, the Besalisk flashed his toothsome grin. "Well now, this is better."

"Is it? I was held prisoner in one of these things for twelve hours once."

"No fear, ol' buddy. Jedi ain't on the menu. Now, what can I do fer ya? Illegal maglev racin', is it, now?"

"Well? What do you know?"

"Plenty. Place is the newest thing. Takes an aurodium bank account to enter- high stakes, high payoffs. But the pilots are the usual scumbags. Local high rollers hire pilots from all over the place to drive those things – little machine, runs on the mag field, just a light shell kinda like a podracer with no engines."

"_Pod racer?_"

"Yep. Wouldn't get involved in it myself. I'm too respectable. And I ain't stupid. Rumor is there's always a bit of a blow-up after these contests. Cheatin' and dirty drivin', you know – everybody doin' deathsticks an other trash an all- and then somebody wants yer blood and there's a duel."

Obi Wan felt a shiver run down his spine, and not from the cold in the refigerator room, either.

"Say there was some kind of duel. Where might such an event be held?"

Dex drew himself up indignantly. "Why would you think I have any idea about that? I'm not involved in –"

"Oh hush, Dex We both know you know. Where?"

The Besalisk shoved two of his four enormous hands into the belt of his sagging pants. "All right – likeliest spot is the Pit. Cage fightin', gladiator style, ya know? Dugs an others like that just love it. Most folks go there to take out a grudge. That way the loser's remains ain't likely to be found, if ya take my meaning. The house cleans up real good after a bout."

"The Pit," Obi Wan repeated, grimacing at the grisly implications of Dex's description. "And where would I find that?"

"Are ya serious? Yer gonna want back up down there, 'ol buddy. Not a place for a nice young fellow like you. It ain't civilized at all."

"You underestimate me."

Dex laughed, a warm sound rolling up from his wide belly and making his reptilian tongue flick against his disorderly rows of yellow teeth. "Never, Obi Wan, never," he assured the Jedi. "Just be careful, is all."

"I shall – don't fret."

"By the way, where's that little whipper-snapper Padawan o' yers?"

"I can only guess," Obi Wan replied darkly. "And I hope my guess is wrong."


	9. Chapter 9

**Teaching Credentials**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 9<strong>

Evening fell early on Coruscant; the northern hemisphere, in which the Legislative district and the Temple precinct were situated, was deep in the winter season and the days were relatively short, although the meteorological regulators in orbit kept the weather well under control.

Jorus C'Baoth had been waiting a full twenty minutes for Anakin Skywalker to appear for a late lesson. He had made the appointment earlier, and knew the boy would not forget. Punctiliousness was a virtue C'Baoth held in high esteem. He made his way down the fourth level concourse, heading straight for the student dormitories. It was time to issue a sharp reminder. He located Skywalker's door with ease, and waved it open without activating the chime or waiting for an invitation.

The room was empty. At least, empty of its inhabitant. The floor, the study desk, the bed, and most the closet space was crammed with circuitry and droid parts, evidence of an unbecoming and childish hobby. He frowned, picked up the half-finished carapace of a modified training remote, and dropped it to the floor. The whole scene was testament to a most un-Jedi-like lack of discipline.

He summoned the boy on his comlink again, but received no answer. "This will never do," the tall man muttered under his breath.

* * *

><p>Garen Muln had to dodge out of the way as Jorus C'Baoth stalked down the central staircase in the south wing. "Pardon me, master!" he exclaimed, tucking himself neatly against a wall as the white haired figure stormed past.<p>

C'Baoth stopped and turned to face him. "Ah. Master Muln, is it? I take it you and Master Kenobi have returned, then."

"Yes – we are just back."

"And where is Master Kenobi, if I might ask?"

Garen shrugged. "I'm sorry, Master C'Baoth. I have no idea where he is at the moment. Did you need to speak with him?"

"No. That isn't necessary. I assumed young Skywalker had gone to greet him."

Garen felt his eyebrows draw together slightly. "I don't believe he has, master. The last time I saw Master Kenobi, he was alone – at the spaceport. He hasn't returned to the Temple yet, I believe."

"Ah." C'Baoth swept away without thanks or explanation, his stride even longer than normal, and his face even sterner than usual.

Garen watched him go, with a growing feeling of apprehension. So, the cranky old barve didn't know where Anakin was? That couldn't be good. How many stories had Obi Wan told him about the boy's habit of disappearing and seeking out trouble? It looked like he was up to it again – and Jorus C'Baoth wasn't at all pleased. Nor did he have the first clue what to do about it.

* * *

><p>"And why should he be here?" Vokara Che, the senior Jedi healer, demanded of Jorus C'Baoth. Her blue Twi'Lek lekku twitched in irritation.<p>

"He is not anywhere else in the Temple premises, and he has not responded to my summons on the comlink," C'Baoth said haughtily. "Is it so illogical to suppose that some harm or illness has befallen him?"

"Well," Vokara Che sniffed, "He is not here in the Halls of Healing. Thankfully. I see enough of him and Master Kenobi as it is."

C'Baoth bit back a curse. He truly had run through all the likely options. The boy had indeed disappeared, and it now seemed that he had left the Temple entirely – a completely forbidden move on the part of a Padawan his age.

"Do you require assistance, Maste C'Baoth?" the healer asked pointedly, with a twinge of dry humor. "Perhaps you should seek the help of Master Yoda."

"Yes, perhaps I should," C'Baoth snapped back, in a tone which made it clear this was not an appealing idea.

She watched him go with a feeling of mild confusion. What in the name of the Force had the Council been thinking when it assigned C'Baoth to oversee Anakin Skywalker's education, even for a few days? A less salutary combination of Jedi she could not imagine. Shaking her head, she turned and went back to her other duties, wondering if the overbearing Jedi master would really get any help from Yoda at all.

* * *

><p>"Misplaced the Padawan, have you, Master C'Baoth?" Yoda said comically, his ears perking straight up. "How embarrassing."<p>

C'Baoth bristled. "The boy's misbehavior can hardly be laid at my doorstep," he growled.

"No," Yoda agreed. "Lost him many times, Master Kenobi has also."

C'Baoth made an impatient gesture "That would seem to indicate a certain lack of competence," he snorted. "An unfortunate habit of encouraging such behavior. What has he _done_ to correct the situation?"

"Found the boy, Obi Wan has," Yoda observed with a sly nod of his head. "Many times. Good at finding he has become. Wise and cunning."

The comparison was not wasted on Jorus C'Baoth. He scowled deeply. "I do not wish to waste your time, Master Yoda," he said tartly. "I had hoped you might have some insight into the boy's whereabouts."

"Hmmmmm," Yoda replied. "I? I think not. But know to whom you should go, hm. Master Kenobi returned from Ilum is. Yes. Ask his assistance perhaps you should."

Jorus C'Baoth's eyes flashed dangerously. He bowed and took his leave without answering. The interview was over.

* * *

><p>Anakin crouched in the shadows cast by a holo-board display. The airtaxi driver knew exactly the place he had requested to be brought, but was unwilling to drop him off closer than a few blocks away. "I ain't getting involved in that scene," he had said gruffly, taking his payment and reversing out of the narrow loading zone with undue haste.<p>

"That scene" was indeed not something any respectable Coruscanti would go anywhere near. To Anakin, who grew up in Gardulla the Hutt's and Watto the junk merchant's seedy enclaves, the scene was familiar. Predictable. A sort of indoor arena had been erected inside an abandoned warehouse, outfitted with striating light banks and a dais in the central area. On this raised platform was a giant cage – actually the outer reinforcement housing of a massive sublight drive, like the kind a heavy freighter might carry. The interior engine had been stripped away, leaving the bones of the reinforcing durasteel armature: a net of unbreakable bars, enclosing a space the size of a comfortable lounge, and roughly equal in height and width.

The beings bustling about the arena, making bets, gossiping, drinking- and here and there, brawling – exuded one thing above all. It made the Force turgid and dark: bloodlust. Anakin knew exactly what this was. A gladiatorial arena. Hutts loved such things. He just hadn't been aware that such pursuits existed right here in the heart of the galactic Republic. The Dug who had insulted him earlier was prominent in the crowd, strutting his stuff, chest puffed out with pride, feet held high and relaxed in front of him as he waddled through the jostling crowd on his hands.

It was a short Force-leap down into the arena proper. In a half minute, he found himself face to face with the obnoxious racer.

"Hi, poodoo breath," he said cheerfully.

The Dug started and reached out one foot to poke him in the chest. "So little idiot boy, you wish to die tonight? I am ready."

"That's good, sleemo, 'cause this is the last time you're gonna cheat and kill just to get a bag of money."

The Dug laughed, sneering at the threat. "Listen, Jedi brat thing. We fight. No weapons. Think you are man enough to insult me? Prove it."

Anakin knew he wasn't supposed to let anger get the better of him. That was a central maxim. But he was way past the point of no return. And hadn't Master C'Baoth told him that he should not tolerate abuse from such an inferior being. What was the point of being a Jedi if he couldn't teach a barve like this Dug a badly needed lesson? Power was there to be used, wasn't it? For the good, of course.

"Okay," he said. "Your mistake."

There was a whirlwind of action and words. The Dug and Anakin divested themselves of weapons. Anakin placed his training saber next to the Dug's collection of knives, blasters, and stun pellets, and was hustled off in the direction of the cage, the Dug similary carried behind him. The audience roared and beat their feet on the floor, making the entire warehouse resound with a frantic, angry rhythm. The floodlights centered on the cage, into which the two contestants were ushered by burly referees. One of these, Anakin noted, busily welded the gates shut after they had entered.

"To the death. No surrender," a voice muttered in his ear, and he was alone in the Pit with the Dug who had already tried to kill him once today.

* * *

><p>Obi Wan followed the sound of maddened cheering, shouting, and stomping to an abandoned warehouse deep in the heart of the Lichii sector. A helpful pedestrian had pointed him in the general direction, and now that he was within earshot, finding the fighting arena known as the Pit was simple. Between the noise and the sickening bloodlust shuddering through the Force, it was impossible to miss.<p>

Cutting a convenient hole in the roof with his lightsaber, he dropped into the darkness below, landing in a crouch on a roof support beam. The space was filled with spectators – well over a thousand of them, he estimated, likely enough all sporting a blaster or some more potent and less legal weaponry. In the center, on a kind of stage, was set a massive durasteel cage, slightly rounded. The shape was oddly familiar, but he couldn't place his finger on it – perhaps because he was so distracted by what was _inside_ the cage itself.

Faced off, like two gladiators ready to fight to the death, were a nasty-looking Dug, and Obi Wan's apprentice. Anakin crouched, weaponless, in the center of the fighting cage, watching the Dug warily as it prowled about him, rubbing its feet together in wicked anticipation as it sized him up. The crowd loved it; they were already cheering, booing and making rude catcalls.

The Dug moved in a flash, and Anakin dodged to one side. The Dug attempted to land two swift punches – or kicks – with its feet, and missed again. Its claws were razor sharp, of course, so the apparent "no weapons" rule seemed a bit unfair. But nobody here cared about that sort of minor detail. The Dug rushed the boy again, and got a foot around his throat- only to be sent sailing back violently into the side of the cage with a Force push. The entire metal structure rattled and shook with the impact, and the Dug slid down in a heap. Anakin straightened up, hand still held outward, palm open.

Obi Wan hissed between his teeth. What in the blazes? If he managed to get his Padawan out of this alive, they were going to have a _very_ long talk about restraint. And anger. And fighting in places like the Pit.

The Dug recovered in record time and stood back up on his hands, spitting out some foul epithet or another. The crowd went wild, and Anakin tensed. Then somebody threw an electrostaff through the bars of the cage and into the Dug's waiting grip. Anakin's mouth fell open and the Dug said something else. More wild cheering from the crowd. _Oh, Anakin. You didn't really think they would play by the rules, did you?_

Now the fight got ugly. The Dug swept and swung at the boy with amazing speed, and it was only Anakin's Jedi skills that saved him, allowing him to somersault through the air or run up the side of the cage to evade the merciless blows. He Force-pushed the Dug again, sending the staff clattering to the ground. The Dug made a dive for it just as Anakin held out a hand to summon it into his own grasp – and just as a blaster shot from somewhere in the crowd pinged through the bars of the cage and grazed the boy's arm. He clutched it convulsively, his sharp cry of pain sounding a tight alarm in the Force. The Dug seized the staff and swung for Anakin's face.

The Padawan stumbled backward, narrowly avoiding the strike, still holding his arm. The crowd was howling with pleasure.

_Blast! Blast! Blast!_ Obi Wan cursed. There was nothing else for it. He dropped off the rafter and landed on the cage's roof. The crowd shrieked and roared, and a few shots were aimed at him. He deflected them with his saber, and took a moment to cut away a small portion of the cage before dropping inside between the Dug and his apprentice.

The Dug spun to confront the newcomer and launched a savage attack. The crowd screamed and surged forward, eager to see the outcome, wild for the spectacle of a saber-wielding Jedi inside the confines of the killing Pit. Some of the spectators trampled each other in their eagerness to gain a front row vantage point. The Dug thrust and spun and made sweeping strikes with his staff, none of which found their mark. In a whirl of blue light, the weapon was severed in half, and the Dug's foot was struck a glowing gash. He fell to the floor of the cage, yowling. The crowd booed and surged forward to the very edge of the bars. Blaster barrels were thrust into the space within, and Obi Wan had to deflect a barrage of ill-aimed shots. He grabbed Anakin by the arm – the hurt one, no time for apology – and jumped.

They made it to the top of the cage. More shots ricocheted off the bars around them. One of the lamps overhead shorted out and exploded in a shower of sparks.

"Jump!" Obi Wan shouted at his Padawan, again grasping the boy's arm in a fierce grip as they flew for the roof supports and then through the hole he had cut in the roof itself.

"Uuuuuungh!" Anakin cried out as they slid down the sloping surface. "That _hurts!_ Let go!"

"You're lucky I don't put you on a _leash_!" Obi Wan snarled, this time seizing a handful of the boy's tunics as they took a flying leap off the edge of the warehouse all the way to the roof of the next dilapidated building.

"I'm sorry, master!" Anakin wailed as they ran, pell mell, for the safety of the district's edge. An angry mob was pouring out of the arena now, and storming the streets.

"You're welcome," Obi Wan growled, and kept running, dragging his Padawan along by the collar beside him.


	10. Chapter 10

**Teaching Credentials**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 10<strong>

The Temple was peaceful, the corridors silent. Most residents had retired for the night to sleep or meditate, or were occupied with other quiet pursuits.

Anakin walked along miserably beside his teacher, wondering what he could say to make amends. "Master? I know I really blew it this time."

"_This_ time?"

Anakin flinched. "I'm sorry – I know you're angry because you just went away for a couple days and Master C'Baoth –"

"Master C'Baoth. What did you tell him you were up to?"

"Uh, well, I didn't exactly tell him. At all, really. It's just that the Dug won the race earlier today by cheating – he actually killed another driver – and then he challenged me to a fight because he thought he could get away with that kind of thing and he didn't like that we confiscated the prize money, and the more I thought about it, the more I thought he _can't_ just go on being smug and doing evil deeds and why shouldn't I teach him a lesson? I'm a Jedi and he's a scumbag."

Obi Wan came to a full halt and scowled, arms folded across his chest. "You are a Jedi who chose to behave like a …scumbag…this evening. So where is your moral high ground, my young Padawan?"

Anakin hung his head.

"And I won't even ask how you came to be involved in that race or what you were doing anywhere in the vicinity of that racing strip in the first place."

"You told me about it!" the boy protested.

"Your role as a Jedi is not to run about Coruscant teaching any being who insults you a _lesson_."

"You showed him, though – didn't you?"

"I saved your pathetic neck," Obi Wan growled, "And we ran for our lives like two mangy street dogs. Is that glorious enough for your tastes, Anakin?"

The Padawan quailed. "Master!"

"Let me assure you: if I intend to teach anyone in that arena a lesson, it won't be the Dug," the Jedi Knight continued, unrelenting.

They had reached Anakin's quarters. Sulkily, the boy hit the access control, and the door hissed open.

To reveal an empty room. Bed, desk, and floor were neat and uncluttered. Free of junk, spare parts, tools, and half finished tinkering projects. Anakin entered, stunned, and turned a slow circle. "It's gone," he said, in a daze. "All my stuff….it's gone."

"Serve you right," Obi Wan grumped behind him.

The boy's shoulders slumped. He stared disconsolately at the bare chamber, his mouth set in a grim line. He looked back up at Obi Wan, eyes shining.

"It wasn't me," the latter said, impulsively, although he had a fair guess who might be responsible for the removal of Anakin's toys.

A single tear trickled down the boy's nose. He wiped it away with a fierce swipe of his hand. "I know," he said. Then, without warning, he flung his arms around his mentor's waist and buried his face against the older Jedi's tunics, sobbing.

Unsure quite what to do, Obi Wan gently lowered himself to one knee and wrapped his arms about the boy's violently shaking shoulders.

"I _hate _him!" Anakin was bawling, his words muffled against Obi Wan's chest. "I _hate_ him! He's scary and he he's mean and he doesn't care about anyone and he wants me to do things I don't…I don't …I _hate _him!"

"Anakin…" Obi Wan said helplessly.

"It's like he's inside of me and I can't get rid of him and I want him to go away and he scares me, master! And don't don't don't please don't give me away to him – I can't do it, I don't want to, please don't let him. I _hate _him!"

"Anakin!"

The sharp tone shocked the boy out of his hysterical rant. Anakin took a hitching breath and pulled away far enough to raise two glistening blue eyes up to his teacher's face.

"Listen, Padawan. I promised you that I would train you and protect you until you are made a Jedi Knight. Nobody, least of all Master C'Baoth, is going to cause me to break that vow."

Anakin's sniffles subsided, though he didn't let go his painful grip. "I'm glad you're back," he mumbled.

"It certainly wasn't a moment too soon." Obi Wan carefully extricated himself and stood up. "You could have been killed tonight, Anakin."

"I'm sorry, master." The boy studied his boots. "So…good night?"

Obi Wan tipped the boy's chin upward with one hand. "Not so fast, Padawan. You and I will be having a _talk_ first thing in the morning."

The promise of strict discipline dissolved any lingering doubts in Anakin's eyes. He nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, master. First thing."

Obi Wan smiled, a very little, and exited with a shake of the head. After he had a _talk_ with Anakin, it was going to be time for another talk with the Jedi Council. High time.

* * *

><p>Jedi Master Mace Windu listened and watched the proceedings in the Council chamber with a great deal of amusement. Not that his stony visage betrayed even a hint of that amusement; he maintained his grave composure perfectly, only occasionally exchanging a swift, guarded look with Yoda – a glance that told him the ancient master was enjoying this almost as much as he was.<p>

"The boy was insolent enough to run away from the Temple without permission – without even leaving a communication behind," Jorus C'Baoth was saying. "Has that happened many times before, Master Kenobi?"

Obi Wan looked for his part _far_ less unsettled than he had the first time the two of them had been together in this chamber. In fact, his feet were unconsciously planted in the classic Form IV offensive-ready position. Mace suppressed a rebellious smile.

"I'm not sure I grasp the significance of your question, master," the young Knight responded with a politeness that seemed to freeze the very Force to ice.

C'Baoth turned glittering eyes to Yoda.

"Hm. Many times before, yes," the old one supplied, ears twitching humorously.

"And what, pray tell, have you done about this?" C'Baoth thundered at the young Jedi beside him. "You cannot allow your Padawan to disappear into Coruscant's underlevels at will, Master Kenobi."

"Oh, I agree," Obi Wan demurred. "In the past, I have always hastened to find him when he goes missing. And thus far I have always succeeded. Pray, what did you do when you discovered he was missing?"

Jorus C'Baoth lowered his eyebrows, sinking his eyes into deep shadow on either side of his hawk nose. "A Jedi should not go running after his Padawan like some kind of stray puppy," he growled. "It is unfitting."

The younger man's eyebrows rose fractionally. "A Jedi should do whatever is necessary to accomplish his duty, without thought to personal embarrassment," he answered mildly. Mace had to press his steepled fingers against his lips to maintain his façade of calm.

C'Baoth glared down at the young Knight. "I think I am _experienced_ enough to know what the Jedi path entails," he cut in, sharply. "Thank you for your opinion."

"And what is the boy doing now?" Mace asked, watching both Jedi closely.

"He is assisting Master Shui in the outdoor gardens," Obi Wan said. "There was some…manual labor that needed to be done. I believe Master Shui gave all four staff members the day off."

C'Baoth stiffened. "Such a punishment will not deter the boy. His energy needs to be channeled by a wise hand, not wasted on such useless tasks."

"Benefit from the gardens, we all do," Yoda put in. "Useless the task is not."

The tall Jedi made a curt bow of acknowledgment. "I merely intended to point out that the boy is difficult to handle. I think my concerns about his placement with an appropriate teacher are validated by this turn of events."

"The Council agrees," Mace said slowly. "Your concern is appreciated." He caught Obi Wan's eye. "It is of utmost importance that we place Anakin with the best mentor possible."

C'Baoth straightened and flicked a witheringly triumphant glance at the Jedi standing beside him. Obi Wan disdained to notice it.

"Returned form Ilum you have," Yoda addressed the latter person. "Anything to say on this matter, have you, Obi Wan? Still determined to keep your word, are you?"

The Jedi Knight looked at Yoda and then at Mace. He bowed slightly. "I hope I will always keep my word, masters. Especially the promise I made to Anakin before this entire Council when he was formally made my Padawan. But above all, I hope I will be guided by the Living Force more than my own will or ambition. Anakin's training is indeed a daunting task, one which I wonder daily whether I will be able to accomplish."

"You admit that you doubt yourself?" C'Baoth scoffed.

"I have much to learn," Obi Wan continued quietly. "But the Force is my ally, and a powerful ally it is indeed."

Yoda nodded sagely, and grasped his stick.

"Well?" C'baoth demanded, growing impatient, and confident of a swift decision in his favor.

"Decided the matter is," Yoda huffed. "Anakin Skywalker will remain with his present master. No more discussion of the subject will the Council tolerate." He skewered C'Boath with a look of cold warning, centuries of authority blazing in his green-gold eyes. The Force roared, bright and with the unspoken reprimand. Even a few of the Council members flinched in their seats.

Jorus C'Baoth managed to bow without conveying the slightest amount of respect, his enormous frame shaking with contained emotion, and swept from the room, wrapped in the tattered shreds of his own dignity. There was a heavy silence in his wake.

Mace released a controlled breath. Most amusing indeed.

"With your permission, masters, I should go," Obi Wan said after a lengthy pause. "Before my Padawan drives Master Shui to distraction."

Yoda beamed at him. Yes, yes. Go now you should.," he commanded gently. "Go and teach your apprentice. And learn yourself."

"Yes, master….I shall."

He bowed, his dark cloak sweeping gracefully against the mosaic floor. Just as he rose, his eyes caught Mace Windu's and returned the hidden smile. The Force leapt and played around him as he turned and quietly took his leave, the new saber gleaming softly at his side.

FINIS


End file.
